


The Alliance of Sealtwic

by Naril



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle, Brothers, Childbirth, Drama, Eventual Happy Ending, Everybody Lives, F/M, Fix-It, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Politics, Pregnancy, Prophetic Dreams, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Romance, Women In Power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:23:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22620145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naril/pseuds/Naril
Summary: It was after the letter had already been sent, that Aethelflaed woke in the middle of the night, gasping for breath.“You have to stay behind.” She blurted the moment Erik had entered her cell. He blinked at her in confusion.Aethelflaed changes the plan. She will not watch her lover die. So she takes their fate into her own hands. Now not the brothers but Aethelred is dead and she has to fight for Mercia, a way to reunite with Erik and their child.
Relationships: Aethelflaed Lady of Mercia/Erik Thurgilson
Comments: 46
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was mostly written over the Holidays and the New Year. I finally feel like it might be at an editing stage I'm happy to post.  
> I'm absolutely also still writing my Bikers AU but there are a few plot points I need to work out for that one. 
> 
> Anyway, here is my attempt at a Fix-it for Season 2 and the utter tragedy that is the last episode.
> 
> (I'm still reading the books so this is using TV show verse)

***

It was after the letter had already been sent, that Aethelflaed woke in the middle of the night, gasping for breath. 

“You have to stay behind.” She blurted the moment Erik had entered her cell. He blinked at her in confusion. 

“What?” 

“Your men will want the silver just like your brother. They will not help us. Stay behind, pretend!” 

He caught her frantically gesturing hands in his. “What are you talking about? We’ll take the longboat together, remember? We will ask Uhtred’s brother for sanctuary. You said this.” 

She shook her head, feeling tears burn in her eyes. “We’ll never not be hunted. If not by my father and husband, then by your own brother and don’t tell me you don’t know this. Uhtred warned us both and neither of us wanted to listen but he is right.” 

“Then I’ll take you further. Out to sea, perhaps we will go to Iceland or even further West where there is free land to be had.” He cupped her cheeks, brushing away her tears and brought their foreheads together. “I cannot let you go, lady. I will not.” 

“You have to.” She whimpered, clearing her throat and trying again to speak. “You have to let them take me and trust me to take care of the rest. I can bear it. I will send for you. When you come to me, everything will be as we dreamed of. But I need to take care of Wessex and Mercia and you have to pacify your brother and your men.” 

This time she pulled him close by digging her fingers into the braid on the back of his head. “We cannot run away from it all. That is a childish and desperate hope, nothing more. It was a beautiful dream but we have to stay and fight.” 

He stiffened and pulled away. “I am no coward.” As if that was why she was backtracking on their promise to each other. 

“Nor am I.” She bit her lips, meeting his wary eyes and hoping he would see her honesty like he always had. “I want to leave this place with you or not at all, like I swore to Uhtred but we have no choice. When they come to take me, I must go alone.” 

“What brought this on?” He sank down on a stool and she could see that he was trying to understand, that he was not angry with her like she had feared. 

Hesitating, she clutched the folds of her dress instead of ducking her head like she wanted to. She was a lady, his lady and precious too, he had told her so many times and though she knew it, her husband’s malicious words had dug deep into her mind and at times had made her hesitant, unsure. 

Watching her with soft, attentive eyes, Erik reached out a hand for her and she came, letting herself be drawn to sit on his thigh and wrapped in his arms. He was good at that, at gauging what she needed and offering, only ever offering, letting her make the decision.

“I dreamt you died.” She whispered into his neck where she buried her face, breathing in his warmth. “I dreamt your brother killed you.” 

He did not laugh at her and though she knew he never would, some small part of her had been worried how he would react because she could not explain this intense sudden fear and sense of doom.

“Do you think that your God was speaking to you?” He asked, sounding tentative and surprising her. “My Gods can speak to us in dreams at times. It is not to be taken lightly.” 

She breathed him in a little longer, then pulled away enough to meet his gaze, looking down at him from her position. Her fingers traced one of the scars on his face. “Maybe, but either way, it made me rethink our situation, made me realise we need to be more careful and use all our cunning.” 

“I cannot give you back to him. I will not! Not with what he has done to you. What he will still try to do.” He was pleading without meaning to and she felt herself start to cry again because she had used to scoff at those tales of undying love and after her wedding she had thought them all pretty lies. Here she was, having found it, only to have to give it up, at least for a while. 

“You don’t have to do anything. You just need to stay with your brother. I will take care of it.” She promised and something must have darkened in her eyes because his widened in realisation. 

“Have you killed a man before, my lady?” He asked, voice gentle as ever. 

“No. I have not. But he underestimates me. It should be easy.” She resisted making the sign of the cross at what she had just said out loud. 

Her husband was not a good man and sooner or later he would have tried to kill her or at the very least rid himself of her. She also knew he would eventually try to depose her father. Better to be rid of him for good and soon, before that nightmare she had seen might rob her of her chance at happiness. 

Erik was smiling that small proud smile he reserved only for her. “You should have been born a Dane. You would have made a mighty warrior queen. Still might.” 

She blushed but allowed an answering feral grin. “It is about time I take my fate into my own hands.” 

***

It was a good thing too that they had changed their plans. When Haesten threw her into that cage and the men jeered at her, Erik instantly knew that her dream had been sent by whatever Gods were on their side. 

They were all alone after all. None of his men would follow him in this. It was better he hide behind the anger of his brother taking his toy away than to defy him openly. In his anger at the escape and with the viper that was Haesten, he might well be enraged enough to do the unthinkable. 

He never had thought his brother would turn against him but was he not betraying him as well? It was better she flee with Uhtred’s men so that the ransom would not be paid and Wessex would remain safe a while, just as she wanted. 

They needed to take one step at a time, no matter how it tore at him to see her like this, to think also that he might not see her again. But she was so strong in what she was planning to do, he could be strong just these few hours it would take to let her slip through his fingers. 

So when the fire started, Erik was already outside, calling for the men to grab buckets and stop the flames. He also sent more guards to the gate, arguing that this might well be a prelude for an open attack. This would allow Uhtred and his small warband to take her from the hall in the chaos. 

When his brother could be heard calling for him, he answered and lured him in the opposite direction of the back gate as well. By the time Sigefrid and Haesten realised what was really happening, the hall had collapsed in on itself from the inferno. 

He did not have to pretend at the shock that struck him to the bone. What if she had not made it out in time? 

“Was the bitch still in there?!” His brother yelled at the men nearby. “Was she in there? Haesten you maggot, I’ll gut you if you lost us the ransom with your stupid idea!” 

Erik did not speak, he did not dare for fear of giving himself away. When his brother grabbed his shoulder and shook him, he found he had been staring at the remains of the hall for perhaps too long. 

Sigefrid’s dark eyes searched his. “The men say they saw fighting behind the hall. Someone came for her and took her before it came down. What do we do now?” 

He took a breath, looked around at the burning fortress they had painstakingly made their own over months. All that hard work and he could not care less. 

“We can hunt them, maybe, they will have taken the back gates. But Beamfleot is lost. The damage is done. It would be better to take what we can and get on the ships before they send a greater force.” 

“And go where?” His brother was still searching his face and for the first time in a while, Erik was sure it was concern. Was it so clear his thoughts were scattered, how lost he felt?

“For now, find a place to regroup. Perhaps we will look North again, Guthrum’s grip up there is slipping.” He had planned to suggest it as a weaker target when Aethelflaed had convinced him to stay behind, but the words came out lifelessly, unconvincingly. 

It was over, she was gone, unreachable for now if he did not want to risk her life again. He had sworn to her to wait, to trust her. 

Sigefrid grunted but eventually nodded. “Fine. The bitch was too much trouble anyway even for all the gold in the world. Haesten and some men are already after her, maybe we get lucky and he deserves the punishment if he gets caught.” He gave him another shrewd look. “You’re not going after them though, right?” 

It was a test. Erik did not back down. “No. I’ll get the ships ready.” He took a breath. “And see what can be salvaged here. I’ll leave the chaos to you.” 

That made his older brother laugh. He slapped him playfully. “I told you it would pass! And do you see what happens when you leave the thinking to me? I need my brother back.”

He mustered a weak grin but Sigefrid seemed to not take it personally. Instead he bent closer. “When we go North, I’ll find you the curviest, warmest, softest girl and you will forget all about this little Saxon princess, I promise you that.” 

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow the story decided it was a one-shot. It is not. It's multi-chapter with some 12-13 chapters planned.

***

Aethelflaed had stayed with her father for a few weeks along with her husband. It was at least a short respite as surrounded by her family, he did not dare lay bruises on her skin which they might see. 

She had been thorough in her planning though. It was easy enough to plant the idea in her father and mother’s head that considering past events, she should borrow Steapa as her personal guard for a while. At least until he had trained up a few candidates from Mercia who would be better trained than the ones who had lost their lives at Lunden. It rankled with Aldhelm but he could say nothing. 

Aethelred did not come near her with the grim soldier at her shoulder, instead happily distracted. The maids she had grown up with were quick to help her set wenches on him discreetly but effectively. If her father or mother noticed it, they said nothing though they were noticeably cooler towards the Lord of Mercia. 

Back at their own estate, she knew time was running out. Even Steapa would not be able to keep him from her bedchamber forever. 

Then one of her ladies grew excited one day. “You have not bled since you returned, lady! Your stay at Wintanceaster and your reunion with your lord must have been fruitful. How wonderful!” 

For a moment she did not understand what she had said to her since she had not shared her husband’s bed even once. Then all too quickly, the realisation set in and she was glad her ladies were so naive to the ways of the world. 

They had not been with her at Wintanceaster, having been chosen only for her return by Athelred and Aldhelm, so they made assumptions. She had only been allowed to bring two of her own for the ones she had lost all those months ago. Beornwyn was young but clever and Orwa was quiet and loyal too. They were both looking at her now, waiting. 

She was truly running out of time. There was a little spark in her belly she needed to protect. 

She swore the women to secrecy for the moment, claiming to wish to be sure before she announced it to the court and her husband. Then she sent Beornwyn and Orwa to work.

Wenches came to his chamber every night, their wine cellar too was constantly kept well stocked and somehow, he allowed himself to be distracted. So for a while longer, she could focus on plotting, instead of protecting herself from him. 

As much as she wanted to drive the knife into her husband’s throat herself (and that had been a shocking realisation but there were a few things her younger self would have found shocking these days) she needed to make it look like either an assassination or an illness. 

She sat across him at the dinner table with Steapa at her back and watched him closely. He seemed content to ignore her at the moment, eating heartily and drinking to excess. 

“You are eating like a bird again.” He noted, words only a little slurred but she had no doubt that would change soon enough. Ever since her return, he had begun to rival Aethelwold in drinking. 

“My apologies my lord.” She picked up a bigger piece of meat and hoped her queasy stomach would be able to keep it down. It would not do to antagonise him, she would play the little bird for him a little longer.

“You are to eat and rest.” He noted with a sneer. “Your father insists you be given better care.” 

She said nothing, kept her eyes averted. 

“I hope you appreciate the trouble you have caused.” He continued, with another long drink from his goblet. 

Behind her, Steapa shifted. He could not do much, but he could report back to Alfred and Aethelred sent the big man a wary look, very much aware of that. He went back to his dinner and wine instead. 

There was little else said that night and she wondered at how much and in what way her father had made his displeasure known to Aethelred. 

“I bid you goodnight, lady.” He said, getting up in almost a rush but turned back at the door. “And I do hope your dreams will be free of Danes and Northmen.” There was a queer tone in his voice. 

Clearly he did not dare accuse her of cuckolding him just yet, but he certainly suspected her. He had suspected her even when she had been naive and innocent. 

He could not find out about the child she carried. He had not shared her bed even once since her return. He would know and she feared he would kill her for it before ever her child even breathed its first breath.

It was easy enough to intercept the wench who seemed to be his favourite, that night as she was leaving his chambers and have her brought to her own. 

“Does my husband treat you well?” She asked, offering the defiant woman bread and cheese. 

“He pays well enough, lady.” Green eyes were narrowed at her, but she seemed curious enough as to why she would want to speak to her. 

“How long has he been using you?” 

There was a twitch there. “Long enough to know his preferences, lady.” 

“Yes.” Aethelflaed got up. “I imagine you are bearing the bruises I have escaped from for the last few months.” 

The woman gave her a shrewd look. After a moment she pulled up her sleeves to show a mess of purple, blue and black. 

Aethelflaed nodded and licked her lips, knowing she had to tread carefully. “If I gave you enough silver to start a new life and found someone to take you away, would you do something for me?” 

Those green eyes remained unreadable but she was tense, shrugging down her sleeves again. “My lady, do not play with me. It is your husband who chooses-“ 

“Exactly.” She interrupted her. “It is my husband who hurts us both. Why let him?” 

The woman stared. 

“What is your name?” She belatedly asked her. 

“Tate, lady.” 

“Tate. Here is my proposal to you.” 

She handed her the phial of hemlock tea herself. 

If Tate so chose she could easily ruin everything, but she had shown her the silver and told her of where she needed to go to meet the merchant who had agreed to take her with him to Frankia. It was all she could do to make sure the arrangements were in place.

The whole night she gnawed on her nails and in the morning when she entered the bedroom demanding to see her husband who had not appeared to break his fast, she feigned shock, grief and if in her distress, she knocked the cup off the bedside table, breaking it and spilling what remained of its contents, none of the guards or Aldhelm suspected a thing in the chaos.

It was done. 

***

“The pig’s arse is dead.” Sigefrid noted one morning as he entered the hall they were currently occupying. East Anglia was not a rich place, but Guthrum being the coward that he was, made it for easy picking and a good place to winter.

It had been three months since they had left Mercia and Erik was still not the same. It made him question his thinking when it came to the little Saxon princess and his brother. 

Maybe he should have let him keep her, he would have grown sick of her eventually. She did not look like a woman to keep a man’s attention. Erik would have gotten bored and moved on.

That way, he might not be sulking all the time like he was at the moment, barely touching his ale or porridge. He elbowed him in the side. “You hear me? That little snivelling bastard is dead.” 

“You mean the Mercian Lord?” His brother hid any expression behind a long gulp of ale. He was not fooled.

“Yes, the one married to your little woman.” He had stopped calling her a bitch recently because it seemed to only make his brother withdraw even more from him. He was not used to this, this distance between them. He had hoped it would be done with once they had been rid of her. 

“Shame, I had wanted to chop his head off myself.” Then he got up from the bench he had straddled and started to walk off. Just like that. 

Sigefrid had had enough. He slammed his fist on the table and when that did not stop the other from walking towards the doors, he threw his knife so it landed in the wood when Erik reached for it. 

“I am sick of this! You barely join the feasting, You fight like a wimp, you have not humped a single woman since Beamfleot and even worse you kept that monk alive to teach you their writings, don’t think I haven’t noticed!” 

His little brother still had his back to him and he could tell he was tensing for a fight but he did not say a thing, did not rise to his challenges. 

“I will hunt that bitch down myself come spring. Maybe when she’s dead you’ll be back to your old self!” He goaded him on. “Or I’ll try humping her too. See what’s so magical about her little cunt.” 

The only reason his back hit the ground was because he had not even seen his brother move towards him. Never, ever had Erik won in a sparring match between the two of them. He had taught him all he knew after all. But he had taken him by surprise. 

Blue eyes cold as ice were glaring down at him, the knife he had thrown pressed against his neck. “You will not touch her.” 

With the wind knocked out of him and his own brother pinning him to the ground, Sigefrid needed a moment to retrace the steps that got them here. On instinct, he had brought up his dagger hand but he had not had time to take off the sheath and the arm was now securely pinned across his chest, useless. 

“You would kill me for that runt of a girl?” He spat though the other did not flinch, did not let up his hold. He should be able to break it, he was the better fighter but the blade dug deeper into his neck in warning even as he thought of making a move. 

“What about you? Would you kill me, brother, hmm?” 

“What are you talking about?” Sigefrid for the first time noticed the truly manic gleam in his brother’s eyes and began to realise how badly he had misjudged this. “She’s got you under some spell. She must do, the little Christian witch!”

“I’m under no spell. I see clearly. Perhaps for the first time in a while.” 

He did not know what to say to that. “Erik -“ 

“You know what I did for you when Uhtred had his knife at your neck? What I gave up because I could not bear to lose my brother? That little king’s lands were ripe for the picking but I made the men leave, for you, for your life!” 

Erik pushed in closer and it became more and more obvious how much he had underestimated his little brother’s state of mind. “I took that decision on my head. Gave the men part of MY share of the little plunder we managed to take on that one ship. So that you would LIVE!” 

He kept the knife where it was but Sigefrid felt it dig deeper, vaguely wondering if it was breaking skin. “Would you have done the same for me, I wonder? When you would not even let me keep one woman? One chance? When you shamed me in front of all our man?” 

“I needed to show strength. I told you not to let them see. Haesten -“ 

“Haesten is a snake and I hope the Saxons took his head. You should have spoken to me. You should have been by my side, not against me.” The pressure of the blade eased a little, almost reluctantly. “I have stood by you all my life and this is how you repay me.” 

They looked at each other for a moment, both panting still with pain and rage. Strangely, Sigefrid realised perhaps before Erik did that this was the end. “You should go.” He told him. 

The knife on his neck wavered. 

“Take your ships and go.” He repeated, relaxing back against the ground and not offering any more resistance, capitulating perhaps for the first time of his life. 

He refused to meet his brother’s eyes anymore but he could tell he was staring down at him, baffled, the knife in his hand all but forgotten. Then he got to his feet, hesitating only for a moment before walking towards the doors again, dropping the knife out of reach. 

“You know what else I heard?” Sigefrid called, could not help himself even knowing that this might well be the last time he saw his brother. “I heard she’s got a pup in her belly after all.” He closed his eyes because everything was ruined anyway. 

Lord of Chaos indeed. He wished they had never returned to his accursed island. 

The footsteps faltered only briefly, then the doors creaked open and shut again. 

“I’ll see you in Valhalla, brother.” He spoke to nobody, not bothering to get up from his spot on the ground just yet. There was no one to judge him for a brief moment of weakness. His lost hand pulsed with pain but he ignored it. 

Maybe he deserved it a little. 

***


	3. Chapter 3

***

There were four longboats travelling up the river and both Ragnar and Brida were surprised at the sight. 

Perhaps more so by the man standing at the prow of the one in the lead. They had not met him in person before but recognised him from their attack on their camp a few years ago as one of the Thurgilson brothers. 

“What’s he doing here?” Brida was watching suspiciously as the ships arrived at the jetty and they walked up to greet him. 

Ragnar kept his eyes on the man walking up to them. “We’ll find out, won’t we?” A large smile spread on his face and he opened his arms in greeting. “Welcome to Dunholm.” 

The man smiled back though it was more reserved. “I am Erik Thurgilson. I was told I might find a haven for me and my men here for the winter? We offer supplies and silver in return.”

“Who told you that?” Brida spoke up from Ragnar’s side.

“Your brother.” Erik looked from her to Ragnar. “Uhtred Ragnarsson.” 

Ragnar raised a brow. As far as he remembered the brothers and his brother had been enemies by virtue of Uhtred still being sworn to Alfred. When had that changed enough for Uhtred to suggest Erik seek them out?

“How many men?” 

“We are 100 of us, all strong fighters and at your service while we impose on your hospitality, if you will give it.” 

Ragnar considered the blond man then nodded, reaching out to clasp arms with him. “I’d be glad to give it. May I ask what brings you here?” 

There was an almost sheepish expression that flickered over his face. “My brother and I are… going our separate ways for a while. The men with me are looking to settle and be done with raiding.” 

“And you?” Brida was still studying him and the men coming off the ships behind him for any deception. 

“I am…” He shifted, cleared his throat and clasped his hands in front of him as if to keep from fidgeting, “waiting. But I too hope to settle somewhere soon.” 

“I think perhaps you might want to elaborate over a tankard of ale.” Ragnar shot Brida a look to ensure they understood each other. They would be cautious until they knew more. There would be time to gather intelligence. For the moment, they would be generous hosts. “Come.” 

***

“That is some tale you’re telling us.” Ragnar picked up another piece of meat and leaned back in his seat. “Someone might turn it into a saga one day but how’s it going to end?” 

Thurgilson was contemplating the insides of his tankard, perhaps to buy him time, perhaps because he himself did not know. “That I am yet to find out.” He admitted, trying and failing for a smile. 

Brida could not quite believe his story but having heard him tell it, she found herself starting to at least ignore her natural suspicion. He seemed sincere enough and indeed honorable enough for this not to be some trick. There was no reason for him to lie.

She too had met Aethelflaed while she had been a hostage at Alfred’s court and could see how she might have caught the eyes of any man but was surprised to hear how much this one had been willing to give up for her. 

“We have heard the lady is with child.” She nonetheless noted quite deliberately, wanting to see his reaction. 

Thurgilson placed the tankard down with more care than it probably deserved, eyes flickering up to meet hers only briefly. “She is.” 

She watched him for a moment longer before turning to Ragnar. “Perhaps a message to Uhtred would be wise.” She could see the humour in his eyes but kept her own face hard for the moment. 

Ragnar looked between her and their guest, still not hiding his amusement. “He is sure to be able to pass along a message if you would like.” He suggested, smirk not quite hidden by his beard as he stroked it in thought. 

Thurgilson had gone very still, eyeing both of them like a cornered fox but also hopeful. She wondered what had happened between him and his brother. 

They had heard tales of the two of them and how they functioned as one unit in their role as warlords and had heard from their hiding place how quick he had been to lay everything on the line to save his brother’s life. 

How quickly a simple thing like love could change all that. 

“Our plan had been to come here together.” He eventually said, still playing with his food more than he was eating it. They would not take it as the insult it could be, considering the circumstances. “We had hoped to hide for a while before moving on.” 

“And bring the wrath of Alfred, Mercia and your brother down on us all?” Brida could not help it, her voice was harsher than she had intended. She did feel for the two of them after all, no matter how much she wished she did not. 

“That is why we abandoned the plan.” Thurgilson returned her glare unwaveringly. “That is why I had to give her up and wait. Wait while that pig’s arse might touch her and hurt her until she manages to dispose of him.” 

She could see the pain he was in quite clearly then. The mask of composure had dropped for only a split second but he had revealed more than he had surely wanted to. 

“And that she did.” She smiled genuinely at him then. “Never underestimate a woman.”

He did reward her with a sincere smile himself and if she was not mistaken, there was a blush too under his scars. “I would never underestimate her. It does not mean I don’t want to keep her from unnecessary harm.” 

Ragnar who had watched the exchange with interest, leaned in again. “And that is a credit to you. But now that pig’s arse as you call him is dead. So now what happens?” 

“I don’t know.” Thurgilson deflated again. “I don’t know. She said she would send for me but I don’t think she even knows where I am or how to find me.” 

“Well that’s easily remedied. We will send a message, like Brida suggested, to Uhtred, that you are with us. He can surely arrange for your lady to get one in turn.” Ragnar clapped him on the shoulder apparently surprising him with his easy manner. It was his nature to catch people off-guard like that. 

“You don’t know me.” 

“No, but you know Uhtred and it seems he was ready to trust you. And I trust my brother.” That was it for Ragnar and he turned back to the feast. 

Brida did see the shadow of pain passing over Thurgilson’s features. Apparently the parting from his own brother had truly not been entirely amiable. 

***

The letter was written in two hands. Her fingers traced over the ink and she fought the urge to cradle the parchment close to her chest. 

The one writer had been an experienced scribe, she could tell. Likely a monk since the flourishes were beautifully crafted though unnecessary for such a private little correspondence. _‘Men at Dunholm offer their swords and oaths to the Lady of Mercia if she would be amendable… to reward them with land and silver… They wish to serve her alone and not another lord.’_

The other writer had struggled with the quill but painstakingly drawn each letter as clearly and neatly as possible.  
_[“Mundilfæri hight he, who the moon's father is, and eke the sun's;  
round heaven journey each day they must, to count years for men.”]_

She smiled at the reminder of his awkward little tale that night in the field. So he had left his brother behind and was staying with Ragnar, Uhtred’s brother. That was good, she had worried that Sigefrid would blame him for her escape after all and her nightmare would come true of that knife in his heart while she could do nothing. 

Her hand wandered to her belly, ever-growing though it was, she could not get used to it. Three months at the vikings’ mercy and yet the lords of Mercia believed her when she said the child was Aethelred’s and all that she had left of him. 

It was the only reason they still took her orders. With her husband dead none could refute it. None would be able to tell that she had not seen his bed since her return.

Her next steps needed to ensure her reign. With Steapa returned to her father because she had found no good reason to keep him here after training up her household guard, she was faced with Aldhelm and his machinations.

Eyes lingering on the sloppy lettering, she traced the lines again. She could not send for him yet. She too wanted him to come to her, but they would have to run if he did. Her father would never believe her that this was the life she had chosen and with the lords thinking she carried the heir to Mercia, they might join him. 

Her nightmare flashed before her eyes again, the blade slipping under his ribs, the surprise in his eyes as the life leeched from them. She would not be the cause of it.

So they needed to wait. Still. 

She took hold of her quill to write out a response, tears brimming in the privacy of the chamber but even so she refused to let them fall. There was so much she wanted to tell him, so little she could risk.

_…’And I thank you for the beautiful verse. I in turn wish to share with you a Roman story about two lovers who can only speak through a crack in the wall under the light of the moon._

_Their families are enemies and so they plan to run away together but something goes wrong and they both die…_

_…They were blinded by love and so hasty to try and be together only to fail. There are many a tale like this. Would you mind perhaps sending me more verses your skalds tell, happier ones?_

__‘[The skalls say:  
‘Sól did not know where it's hall would stand ,  
The stars did not know where they would be set,  
Máni did not know what would be it's might,’]’_ _

__

__

_…Thank you for indulging me. I saw the moon. I wondered about Máni and Sól. What does it mean when the moon waxes and wanes?…_

_[When there is a new moon, Máni has to hide from Hati. When he returns he has succeeded.]_

_…It must be tiresome to live like Máni and his sister do. Always hunted, always running, enemies moving in on them._  
  
***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [] is Erik’s handwriting  
> Cursive is for all the letters


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a shorter filler, mostly to show time passing. To make up for it, I'll follow up with the next one right away.

***

“My lady, this is for your own safety.” Aldhelm told her placatingly. “We cannot be sure that my lord Aethelred was not poisoned. I would not risk his heir.”

“The Lord Aethelred was drunk and choked on his own vomit, I’m sure.” Aethelflaed glowered at him from her seat in the Lord’s chair, her belly slightly visible, under her dress, to those coming to see her but not yet impeding her activities. “Do not think I was blind to his ways.”

The Head of the Mercian Guard considered her a moment. “I don’t, my lady.” He then relented. He had always been worried about foul play when it came to his master’s death.

She had not wanted to oppose the idea too much, to not have him suspect her too, but he was becoming more than a nuisance and indeed, a problem.

“All my household are either loyal folk from Wessex or chosen by my late husband himself.”

“With respect, lady, servants can be bought easily enough, no matter where they are from and with… recent events, I would not take chances with the future of Mercia.”

He bowed and left without another word, not waiting for a dismissal and she did catch the look he had shot her at the door. Even if he did not suspect her yet, he had been watching closely since her ‘rescue’.

He had also been kept close by her husband, so of all involved, he might be able to guess at other things she had been hiding.

For a moment, she let her mask slip now that she was alone, hand coming up to cover her belly and rubbing at her temple with the other.

Aldhelm was devoted to Mercia, no single lord or lady, the country itself. She did not know what he might do if he discovered her machinations. She had a feeling the man already feared her a little and she was after all, an outsider to him and many of the Witan.

They did not appreciate that she was left in charge, at least until her child was old enough to take on the role of Lord of Mercia. It would take time to assert herself and convince them that a woman too could lead them well enough.

She smiled a little wryly to think back to how Erik’s eyes had lit up when she had confessed to knowing how to handle a sword. Perhaps the Danes had the right of it? She had heard stories of their women who had chosen to fight and take part in battles. No one dared question them.

***

_“What other secret talents are you keeping from me?”_

_It was late at night and the sounds of men singing and laughing could still be heard from outside her cell. She was not sure what the celebration was, but Erik had used the distraction to come to her._

_Propping her chin up on his chest where she had been resting, she grinned at him. “My father gave me a sword. It’s still in my chest by my bed in Mercia. My mother hates it and the idea of me having it but Uhtred once told me I should give it a name to make it stronger.”_

_His eyes did light up, like she had hoped, the lazy expression melting from his face for a feral grin in return. Still his fingers kept smoothing tenderly over her hips. “You should name it and then you should use it to cut your husband’s balls off to give it a taste of blood.”_

_She stiffened, looking away. The thought had occurred to her and she had been so ashamed at the time, to hear him say it, like this, it was too much._

_The caresses ceased and she could hear him take a deep heaving breath through his nose, his hands twitching against her skin like he was not sure whether to remove them or not._

_“I’m sorry.” He muttered and she could hear how unsure he had suddenly become. “It is no business of mine.”_

_She sat up from their little nest, missing his warm skin against hers immediately and met his uneasy eyes despite the prickle of tears in her own._

_“I wanted to.” She said, like it was a confession. “There were moments when I truly did but it… I was not expecting him to…” she broke off, tried again, “I was raised to do my duty and he is my husband, it is his right-“_

_Erik looked ready to murder and he sat up suddenly, so they were again face to face, though he kept the distance she had created._

_“Did your father knowingly give you to such a man?”_

_“No. Noone knew. We courted for a long time and I never…” She shrugged, thinking about it made it all the more painful. The way she had been looking forward to the wedding, the wedding night even, so naive and hopeful._

_Erik was shaking his head and made a sound like an angry horse, apparently lost for words. It was sweet but she thought it unnecessary._

_“It’s the way of this world. I am to obey him in all things.”_

_He gave her another incredulous look but deflated, leaning back against the wall behind her cot and opening his arms to her so she could crawl back into the safety of him._

_“You cannot divorce him?”_

_“A husband has the right to annul a marriage if he finds good reason but I cannot divorce him, no.”_

_Under her cheek, he heaved another half-sigh. “Under Danish law you could.” This time he brushed his fingers through her hair, his chin resting on the crown of her head. His beard tickled her but she relished the feeling._

_“I am not a Dane.” Her voice was shakier than she had intended but he just held her tighter._

_“No.” He agreed. “Not yet. You just fight like one and share your bed with one.”_

_She kept her eyes closed but felt him nose into her hair to press a kiss to her scalp. “Sometimes you talk like one too.”_

_That made her sniff a half-smile and tighten her own arm around his strong middle in a squeeze, knowing that he would have to leave again before sunrise and wishing for only a short moment that she had been born a Dane, that she had met him first and he was her husband._

_His fingertips were trailing up and down her spine and it made her shiver. “Maybe you should teach me more about how to love like a Dane?” She suggested, lifting her head to see him stare at her with that look of wonder._

_She was a little smug about the fact that she could throw him so off-balance, this big warrior who commanded hundreds of men._

_“Lady, I think you’re pretty good at that already.” He managed eventually, bafflement fading into mirth. “But if you insist.”_

_Before she knew what he was doing, he had pulled her to straddle his lap. Some instinct made her roll her hips experimentally and she could feel him harden again._

_“You can ride me this time.” His voice was thick with lust already but mischievous too._

_Blinking at the suggestion, she found herself already excited at the idea. “You’ll let me?”_

_He laughed, eyes sparkling. “I’ll enjoy it.” His hands slowly inched around to her backside, massaging, an offering. “If you like.”_

_She smiled, leaning down to kiss him eagerly. “Show me how.”_

_***_

“Take this and bring it to Coocham.” She handed the letter to the last of her ladies who was leaving her.

The girl was crying but nodded, hiding the letter in the folds of her cloak.

“I will, I will, my lady. I am so sorry, I wish I could stay and do more.” She hugged her carefully. “May God preserve you and give you a healthy child.”

“Thank you, Beornwyn. Be safe.” Aethelflaed ushered her out of her chamber and sighed.

Soon the nuns Aldhelm had brought in to attend her would be back.

She turned towards the window seat and sat herself down carefully. It had become more difficult and cumbersome to move around, not that she would have been allowed to.

More and more the head of the guard had taken over, claiming to protect her and the child. Perhaps he truly thought that was what he was doing. He clearly intended to take charge of the child if it were a boy, already arranging things with the Witan to ensure it.

As much as she had hoped to take control and as many of the lords were loyal to her due to her father, she was a woman and Aldhelm insisted on her frailty.

Pregnant as she was, they all seemed so concerned for her health, yet kept her locked up like a priced treasure, just like the Danes had.

She had said as much once, only to receive a deeply wounded look in return.

“My lady, surely you would not compare our protection with your horrendous captivity?” Aldhelm had said, the rest of the Witan shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

“Which of us lived through the ordeal, Aldhelm? Me or yourself?” She snapped.

He had gotten to his feet and waved over the nuns he had brought into her household. “Perhaps you should lie down, lady.”

Some lords had chimed in, assuring her the Witan’s business was not so important as to keep her from her rest and though she declined the kind offer, they had been insistent.

She could not fight them all. Rumours and talk would abound and if she knew anything about courts and Witans it was that they would latch on to anything that might be a weak spot.

They would look to Aldhelm if he convinced them that she was not capable of ruling due to her condition. and she had no doubt that he would try and make her his prisoner, for the sake of Mercia, if he thought it best.

Feeling her child kick in her belly, she took another deep breath, rubbing the spot. “We’ll need your father sooner than I thought, little one.”

Another emphatic kick and she smiled, knowing that she would not fail in this. “And all the allies we can get.”

***

_“Is this Hati*?” She traced the ink under his skin and felt the stubble of his shaven scalp._

_He hummed in something that might have been an affirmative, bearded cheek scratching the skin of her chest, where his head comfortably rested, as they lay entangled in the grass by the little lake._

_They were letting the summer sun dry them from their swim. Sigefrid was leading a small raiding party over the border and with him and Haesten gone, he had dared bring her with him for the afternoon._

_“How is it done?”_

_A low groan of irritation and a mumble. They had been dozing for a while, he had spent the morning on the hunt and was surely exhausted, but as much as she felt a little guilty for it, she did not want to spend what little time they could steal, sleeping._

_He tightened the arms around her and reversed their position, blinking sleepily up at the blue of the afternoon sky. “With a little sharpened piece of bone and ink.” Reaching up, he tapped his index finger along the lines, demonstrating._

_“Does it hurt?”_

_“A bit.” He yawned, ready to drift off again, it seemed, but she caught his hand and placed it on the large design that was placed spanning his upper chest._

_“What about this one?”_

_“It’s something to remember my mother by.” He shifted so his one arm was behind his head for a pillow, eyes still stubbornly shut but apparently resigned to the idea that he would not be sleeping any time soon. “I had it done in Francia over one winter. It took many hours.”_

_Aethelflaed thought of the woman who had not wanted her son to be chased by wolves. What would she have thought of his success as a warlord in England, she wondered. Had she been a warrior too? “What happened to her?”_

_“My father had gone to live as a viking with Halfdan Ragnarsson** as a young man. He was always loyal to him. When he died, Halfdan came to take both my brother and I to Jorvik to turn us into warriors, he said.”_

_He shrugged a little._

_“Our mother said she had had enough of conquering and fighting, so she stayed at our homestead in Viken***. There was a plague that same year. When we returned, she had died.”_

_It sounded empty, matter-of-factly, like he was telling someone else’s story. She wondered how old he had been at the time._

_“I’m sorry.” She whispered. “Do you still have family there?” She did not dare ask about if he had a wife there. Many vikings did, Uhtred had once told her. The women spent the summer alone raising the children and the men returned before the winter._

_“The Jarl had taken her lands, as is his right if no one claims them soon enough. Sigefrid would have had the right to them but did not want them.” It sounded like he had not been asked as the younger of the two._

_“I miss it sometimes.” He admitted and it sounded wistful to her ears._

_She pressed herself closer, fingers still tracing the dark lines of the tattoo. So the brothers had no home to speak of anymore. She had never considered why their kind went on their journeys around the seas, thought only they stole what they could get their hands on and then took it home to hoard it or sell it perhaps?_

_“We went back to Jorvik and when Halfdan went to Ireland, he left my brother in charge of the city.” Erik concluded, as if to put an end to his own history._

_“And then you lost it to some monks.” She teased, if only to ease the somber mood that surrounded them both._

_“Haesten lost it. We had gone to fight the Scots.” He protested indignantly._

_She giggled._

_“You dare mock me, woman?” It was a playful growl and it only made her laugh harder._

_“I would never.” She eventually managed at the impishly wounded look he was giving her and levered up so she was resting on her elbow to kiss him._

_“We should go back. Before they decide you overwhelmed me and made a run for it.” He mumbled against her lips._

_It made her giggle again. Opening her eyes to see his expression so near, where she hovered over him, she could tell that he was doing this on purpose, trying to make her laugh as often as he could._

_It shone out of his eyes._

_“I love you.” She breathed, flushing even as she said it._

_For a long moment he stared at her, jaw slack, eyes wide, searching hers for something she could not begin to guess at. Swallowing and clearing his throat, he looked overwhelmed and her heart sank a little._

_Then he pushed up onto his own elbow, the arm wrapped around her pulling her in so her forehead pressed to his. His eyes closed for a few breaths before he looked up at her with so much emotion it almost looked like pain. “I love you.” He said in a rasping voice, like it hurt to say it._

_***_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I’ve tried to figure out wtf the design of the tattoo on the side of his head is but I honestly cannot tell. I think it might be a bird, a raven maybe??? Until anyone who is more informed than me tells me: Artistic licence! Also, don’t tell me there isn’t more ink hiding under those clothes other than that head and neck tattoo…  
> **He’s not in the show. I’m using him. In this story he went to Ireland some time after Guthrum lost against Alfred and Uhtred. End of discussion.  
> ***Viken is a region in Viking Norway/Sweden and that means it works, at least in my head, for the book origin of the brothers and the fact that they're played by Swedish actors. 
> 
> As a side note: I will keep with the show's convention of calling all Northmen Danes no matter where they come from. I don't think they ever mention that the brothers are from Norway unlike the book which makes a point of it.


	5. Chapter 5

*** 

“So Heasten sends for me, does he? After bending the knee for Alfred and stealing half my ships with you, Dagfinn.” Sigefrid studied the man standing in front of him with narrowed eyes. 

He himself was lounging on the pillows and cushions of the bishop who was still hanging off the monastery gates. After his brother had left, he had decided to find new riches west on a whim and this place on the Welsh coast had been ripe for the picking. These priests knew how to live in comfort. 

“He has Wessex fooled as I said and this is the Lady of Mercia, Lord. He thought you might want a piece of her yourself.” Dagfinn spoke, more shrewdly than he remembered him. He must have learnt well from his new master. 

Sigefrid groaned in frustration, throwing his head back and not for the first time missed his brother’s level head. He would see the games being played that he could not rightly see and would have known what to say. 

Of course he wanted revenge for everything that damn girl had cost him, but things were not that easy. Also Heasten was a coward and it rankled that he had taken possession of their old fortress. 

Since Erik had left with what men had wanted to follow him and he himself for the West Coast, he had more or less raided aimlessly. His brother had been the one with the plan. The men were grumbling about going home and then there were the ones who had stolen away in the night to follow Haesten, the coward. It was only a matter of time until he could no longer hold them together. 

He himself was restless and though he had disposed of some of the ringleaders swiftly, he knew it could not go on like this forever, not without his brother’s steadying presence. 

“My lord?” Heasten’s messenger pressed. “I am to return as soon as I can with your answer.” 

He rolled his head on the cushion to send him a glare. “Well, I haven’t given one yet, so you’ll just have to wait.” 

He turned back to stare holes at the ceiling. As ceilings went it was rather ornate with carvings and paintings of saints. They all looked disapprovingly at the heathen lounging under their eyes. It used to amuse him. 

His brother was at Dunholm with Young Ragnar, he knew that much. Would he know about the siege? Would he know that there was an alliance between Haesten and Aldhelm? That they were working together to keep Wessex from interfering? 

Would he want to come to her aid? Most likely, since he had been threatening to cut his own brother’s throat were he to harm her. Would he convince Ragnar to send more troops? That would delay their arrival but also might be the reason why Heasten would try to add to his numbers. 

Even if he might be able to take the little princess before Erik arrived, (and it would take barely any time to get there, Dagfinn had made the journey quickly enough) as much as he had thought it would be satisfying to give her a nice humping, she ( and he had little doubt of this particular fact) was carrying his brother’s pup. He made a face. No, he did not want to stick his dick in there. 

Besides, he was not ready to face his brother in the field. ‘Would you kill me, brother, hmm?’ It still stung and haunted him but he had also had time to think it over. 

He had gone into a rage when one fool among his men had voiced the suspicion that Erik might have set the fire and snuck Uhtred and his followers into Beamfloet. He had throttled the little turd, a knife or sword too good for the worm but the idea had stuck on his mind like a gnat and the more he thought about it, the more he feared the man might have been right. 

He had dismissed every attempt his brother had made to speak to him about it, had instead made jokes about his manliness, the gossip the men had been sharing around. It was only much later that he grew concerned about the weakness he was showing by his behaviour, not realising the depth of the matter. Perhaps he had not wanted to.

He was many things but despite what some might think, he was no fool. Their confrontation had shown him that this was genuinely something his brother could not let go. 

He also knew himself and that in his rage, he might very well have killed his little brother if he had lost control. It would have been the end of him too. He would have thrown himself into battle like a berserker to follow him into Valhalla. It really made for bleak thoughts. 

Dagfinn was still standing there, waiting, he could hear him shift nervously. He probably worried that he would take his head for deserting his fleet and joining Haesten. The idea did have merit. 

Sitting up, his neck clicked unpleasantly and with a groan he waved over the buxom serving girl he had taken from the bishop’s bed. Maybe more of that delicious mead they made here would stop his mind from spiralling. 

He took a deep gulp, eyed the woman’s backside as she went to refill the flagon and took a deep breath. “Not interested.” He eventually decided, pointing his sheathed dagger hand at his former follower. 

Finishing the drink he fixed him with a look when that did not make him move. “That means no. Now get out.” 

There was little satisfaction in just letting him walk away but if he cut his head off, he would have to send his own messenger to Haesten with it in a sack. It was not worth the effort. 

“More mead!” He bellowed into the silence of the empty room. 

***

“How can she be besieged in Sealtwic?! What is she even doing there?” 

Ragnar was watching Erik pace while the messenger watched apprehensively. “The lady of Mercia was taken there by order of the Head of her guard… lord.” The man’s voice shook a little, not sure what to make of the agitated former warlord. 

“I have to go to her.” Erik ignored him, instead speaking to Ragnar. “I’ll have to take my men and-“ 

“Is she expecting re-enforcement?” Brida spoke up because her practical mind was already calculating the situation. 

“She had sent word to her Lord father before but the Witan is undecided as to what to do.” 

“His daughter is being besieged. What is there to be undecided about?!” Erik snarled and the Saxon messenger visibly flinched. 

“The siege is apparently lead by a man named Haeston. He has sworn an oath of loyalty to the Kingdom of Wessex. He claims he only wants to bring her to her father. The Witan is debating on what course of action to take.” The man stammered. 

With a roar, Erik smashed his tankard against the nearest wall. Ragnar looked to Brida who simply gave him a resigned little shrug. 

“I should have let her cut his throat! That viper! That wretch!” Their guest raged quite uncharacteristically. He was often more reserved than most Danes Ragnar knew, himself included and it spoke volumes of what this news was doing to him. 

“Go, the kitchen will provide food and drink for you.” He told the messenger who had been watching with wide eyes and no little fear. “We must discuss this at length.” 

Turning back to Erik, the man had at least regained some control, though he was clenching and unclenching his fists and visibly working through the quickest way to get to his lover. “I apologise.” He said when he met Ragnar’s gaze. 

He waved him off. “You know this man Haesten?” 

“Before he swore himself to Alfred he was my sworn man. Before that, Guthrum’s. He changes master as he pleases but one thing that does not change is his appetite.” His hand went to the hilt of his seax, the leather grip creaking under his white knuckled grasp on it. “He wanted Aethelflaed for himself before… I… was almost too late, had she not defended herself. Instead I stopped her from killing him. I wish I had not. None of this would have happened.” 

“You would still have fallen in love with a married woman and a Saxon princess at that. I doubt the situation would have been much different.” Brida threw in, never one to hold back. “It is what it is.” 

Ragnar noted how the other man wrestled with his emotions for only a moment longer, before nodding. “It is what it is.” He repeated, thoughts visibly racing to find a solution. 

Taking pity on him, Ragnar got to his feet. “We can provide you horses. If you manage to load them onto your ships, there are waterways that will cut down your journey to 3 days*, but I cannot come with you. I am content here, I do not wish a retaliation for interfering in the business of Wessex and Mercia, the turd king might accept our presence now, but we still need to be careful for the moment.” 

Erik seemed to be trapped in his head still, troubled blue eyes looking far away. 

“She’ll be nearing her time, Thurgilson.” Brida went to stand in front of him to try and catch his eyes. “They are all moving in on her because they perceive her to be weakest now.” 

A tight nod was her only response so she caught his shoulder, giving him a shake. “You will need luck on your side but they will not expect a whole war-band of vikings to come to her aid. Use that element of surprise.” 

It looked like she had gotten through to him. “Heasten might suspect that I would try to come for her.” He finally spoke again. 

“Not this quickly.” Brida smirked. “Besides, you say he does not understand loyalty. He probably expects you to winter here, lick your wounds and then to either re-join your brother or go home.” She made it sound like a dare, like she was testing his resolve. 

It only provoked the twitch of a smile from their guest.“You are very much like my lady, I think. I think you might get on well if you were to meet.” 

Brida raised an eyebrow but her expression darkened. “I have met the princess but she was younger then, softer than the woman I hear about now.” 

Instantly the hint of good humour disappeared but Brida squeezed his broad shoulder again and looked up at Ragnar who had moved to stand at her shoulder. “If she is the woman I have heard of now, then I am sure she will hold out until you reach her. With child or not, she sounds like a true warrior.” She noted.

This time Erik lit up, a sunny smile breaking across his features and if Ragnar had been a jealous man, he might have worried at the charm he exuded when he chuckled. “That she is. A warrior queen if ever I met one.” 

“Then you need to prepare. Warrior queens, once you found them should never be given up.” Ragnar slipped his arms around Brida’s waist. “Especially if they’re born from Saxon stock.” 

She pinched him for the teasing but did not seem to mind so much. 

When she met Erik’s eyes, she grew serious again: “There is an old shieldmaiden who’s joined us a while ago, she knows the art of being a midwife. I know she has missed the open battlefield so take her with you, just in case.” 

Ragnar sighed, squeezing her tighter. It was a good idea, of course Brida could be trusted to think of something as important as that. “Uhtred and his men are set to meet with you there too.” 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*approx. 35 miles per day for a small army to be moving; over 177 miles or so is roughly 5 days. This is a really rough pencil of troops moving though. I’m making up the part where they can be faster if they take the ships for the first part of the journey before continuing on horseback. Viking ships were actually incredibly mobile so meh, artistic license)
> 
> I tried to make it work with Ragnar and Brida joining in on the fight but it became very complicated very quickly so apologies but not in this story.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was trying to focus on Wolves of Valhalla but the plot has become pretty complicated and I need to thread the strands together properly so I ended up taking this story further. I might even post two chapters in the light of the social distancing thing that is happening.

***

Erik pulled up his horse in front of the small band of men standing in the road. “Uhtred Ragnarsson.” He greeted. 

“Erik Thurgilson.” The other nodded, looking not particularly happy to be there and lacking the patience for formality. It was just as well, nor did he. “Well met.” 

“You’ve been to Sealtwic?” 

“We have.” Uhtred crossed his arms. “There is much to talk about.” 

Throwing a long glance down the road ahead, Erik nodded. “Agreed. We are camped by the river.” He gestured at the two men with him and they brought forward four riderless horses. “It’s best we travel quick before their scouts see us.” 

“They’re watching the road further ahead.” One of Uhtred’s men noted. “It’s the South they are worried about. Not the North.” 

That at least was good news. “Did you get word from inside the walls?” He asked, because he needed to know, if only the smallest tidbit of information. 

“No.” Uhtred was already in the saddle, picking up the reigns. “Only as much as Sithric could find out from the camp. They are keeping her in confinement and few have seen her, only Haesten and his most trusted when they went to negotiate.” 

“And what is it they agreed on?” He had to keep himself from thinking too hard about the Mercians parading Aethelflaed in front of Haesten, all of them treating her like meat. 

He, too, had once considered her nothing more than a bargaining chip. But that had been before and he could not waste time with that particular guilt right then and there. 

The lithe Dane behind Uhtred spoke up this time. “They wait until the lady has given birth. Then the Mercians will keep the child and Haesten will be allowed to take her to do with as he wishes.” 

It took all he had to contain the boiling rage. “They believe her father will simply accept this?” 

The woman who had traveled with them, the nun, gave him a look of sympathy. “One can only imagine that they think he will not find out until it is too late, lord.” 

“And what says the king?” He asked, despite knowing full well that clearly there was no help coming that way. 

Uhtred gave him a dry look. “He says a lot of things. None of which are particularly clear or helpful.” 

The nun sent him a long-suffering look. “What Lord Uhtred means to say, is that the Witan is divided as to how much they should get involved in matters of Mercia. I am sure he wishes to help his daughter but even a great king needs to consider his Ealdormen and they are hesitant.” 

There was a brief glance between her and Uhtred then and Erik wondered for a moment who this woman was to chastise the man like that. “Does he know you are here?” 

That had the other warrior chuckle wryly. “No. We come at your lady’s bidding. That is all.” 

“Come, we’ll speak more at camp.” Turning his horse, Erik lead the way back where they had come from. Time was running out. 

Uhtred spurred his horse to ride beside him. “We should speak in private first.” 

Erik nodded, the ache inside of him only growing at the Daneslayer’s words. 

***

After they dismounted at the camp, hidden in a small wood, Uhtred followed Erik into his tent. He took the cup of ale offered and took in the other man, in this private moment. He was clearly restless, pacing the little space and itching for the action of battle. It did not suit him. 

“Before I left to meet with you, a woman came to Coccham.” Uhtred told him, deciding it best to get to the point. “She had a handwritten letter to give me from the lady Aethelflaed herself.” 

At this the pacing stopped, though Erik kept his back to him.

“It took Gisela’s mind to work it out.” Uhtred shrugged, almost apologetically. “The letter said the lady Aethelflaed is looking forward to welcome her child this month. The Mercians expect her not to give birth at least for another month if not two.”

He watched Erik do the simple calculation in his head but there was little surprise in his clever eyes. It looked more like relief if anything. “I see.” He said. 

Uhtred narrowed his eyes. “How did you know?” Until this moment, there was no way to be sure that her husband had not been the father. Gisela had insisted he help when she had explained the significance to him. It seemed she always did advocate for Aethelflaed’s wellbeing. 

The blond Dane shrugged, eyes drifting into the distance towards where Sealtwic lay. “I did not need to.” He took a deep breath. 

Uhtred cocked his head. “If the message had been the opposite…?” 

He received a cold glare in return. “What kind of man would that make me, if I abandoned her for something she cannot control? It matters not to me, all that matters is her safety.” 

“But it does matter.” Uhtred pressed slyly. “Your child and the woman you love are being held captive.” 

“Yes.” Erik searched his gaze, trying to read him in turn. “Do you have advice to offer me or are you simply pointing out the obvious, Lord Uhtred?” 

Shrugging, Uhtred chuckled. “You know what I did to have my wife by my side, I’m sure.” 

Erik did not seem to find it amusing. “It is all her doing.” He spoke hoarsely, as if almost to himself. “It was her who planned this, more carefully and with more cunning than I was able to at the time.”

That was something Uhtred had wondered about. “So Aethelred did not die of a sudden illness as the court was told?” 

Pained blue eyes flickered to his only briefly but it was enough. 

“She is a strong woman, a queen at heart.” Uhtred noted. “She will have done what was necessary.” 

“Yes.” Erik said again. 

“Now I do have advice for you, Lord Erik.” Uhtred clapped him on the shoulder. “Trust in fate. The two of you are bound. Bound by fate and soon if the Gods are good, a child. You will see each other again.” 

Raising an eyebrow, Erik made to speak but then shook his head, hesitating. 

“The letter.” He said. “May I see it?” 

Frowning, Uhtred searched his expression again. “I burnt it after we realised the message she was sending.” 

Erik looked far more grieved at the loss of some writing than he had expected. “I’d hoped… we have been exchanging letters. None have reached Dunholm in three months until we heard of the siege.” 

That was interesting. “You read, lord Erik?” 

He was plainly getting under his skin because he fidgeted, much like he had when they had been talking privately at Beamfleot. 

Chuckling, Uhtred put down the cup. “I am teasing. And I am sorry I could not bring the letter.” He went over to the tent flap. “Let us come up with a plan then. It seems that after all this time we are after all to be allies.” 

“Allies, my lord Uhtred?” Erik recovered quickly. “At this point, should we not be friends?” 

He paused, gave him another quick glance, noting that though there was some of the old slyness in his eyes, it was subdued. 

“Can you be friends with the man who took your brother’s sword hand?” He asked plainly. 

There was only a flicker of emotion. “I’d be friends with the man who risks his life for the woman I love.” He clarified, before gesturing out of his tent and towards the warm fire in the middle of the camp.

Deciding not to answer directly for the moment, Uhtred stepped out ahead of him and seeing his men being fed, wandered over to them with the other man just behind him. 

First there would be food and ale, then they would find a viable plan of battle for the following day. Between himself and Erik, they should be able to contrive a way to breach the siege. 

***

“We could shadow-walk.” Uhtred grinned later that night when most of the warriors had already bedded down. Finan groaned next to him and Erik simply smirked on the other side of the campfire. 

Hild bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at the suggestion, she had been told all about how Uhtred had defeated the brothers those years ago in that way. 

“Is that something you just like to do a lot?” The blond Dane asked in what seemed to be much better humour than they had seen him since they arrived. 

Hild had decided to join them this time, thinking the cause of this venture too important to stay behind, only supporting them with prayers. 

“If it works.” The other shrugged in that unaffected way he had though he yelped when she elbowed him. 

“I know those men. They betrayed my brother to follow Haesten for greed. They will not negotiate if you threaten his life. There is no brother who has a brain to save him.” Erik told him pointedly. “I have another idea.” 

Looking amused, Uhtred gestured magnanimously for him to continue. 

“Ragnar gave me some 70 horses to speed us along. They are not expecting a large force to be this close. There are only a few men staying with the ships, the rest can either ride or are competent enough with a bow. You say the forest by the estate is good enough cover to shadow-walk? Let my 30 archers get close enough to light the camp on fire from a distance. We smoke them out and charge them on horseback while they’re still confused.” 

Uhtred had already perked up at the idea of using burning arrows. Beside her Finan seemed to once again send a prayer heavenward. Still, it seemed to be their best chance. 

“And the Mercians?” She threw in because she knew that someone needed to stay focused. 

The Dane looked between them again. “You’ve seen the fortifications. I’m sure you already came up with some ideas.” 

“We have.” Uhtred affirmed more or less pointlessly. “It is not that good to defend. The Romans used it for a Spa, I’m told.” He cast Hild a quick look who only nodded. “I’m sure they initially let her stay here because of it. They could watch her comings and goings easily. Sealtwic has always been contested because of its salt. The walls have been repaired many times.” 

“What about the river? Couldn’t we attack from both sides?” She asked, thinking of the longboats they had seen when they had arrived. 

“There aren’t enough of us.” Erik frowned. “It’s a good idea but we have to take Haesten first, then worry about the Mercians.” 

“Agreed.” Uhtred made a derisive noise. “We have the element of surprise and with the horses, we should be able to take the camp quick enough. The walls are a different story but it should work.” 

The two men shared a long look. Hild was not sure what passed between them but they seemed to come to an agreement. 

“I will lead the riders. My brother always teased me about being more horse lord than him.” Erik said. “Guide the archers and signal when we need to get ready.” 

Uhtred nodded. “And Haesten himself?” 

“If we catch him, I want to gut him like a fish but he’ll most likely run.” 

“You should capture him and give him to your lady as a gift,” Uhtred suggested with a chuckle. “I’m sure she would like to wield the knife herself.” 

Hild was not sure about that but saw how Erik’s face darkened instantly. “Perhaps I should. I stole the chance from her once. Maybe she is fated to kill him.” 

Uhtred shrugged, though she could tell his sharp eyes were calculating, probably making plans to deliver on this. “Destiny is all. He’ll get what’s coming to him.” 

***


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the first big battle I've ever written and I'm not sure I'm ever gonna be happy with it but here we are:

***  
Dagfinn prowled the camp. Ever since he had returned without re-enforcements and without Sigefrid, he had been getting a bad feeling about this venture. 

It had been a similar feeling back when the Lord Erik had tried to take the little princess away on one of the longboats. He and the other most trusted of his men had been torn between their loyalty to him and the silver they had been promised. 

He would never understand what her hold over his former lord was. she was just a woman like any other, as far as he could tell, and far more trouble than she was worth. 

Granted, she had broken the army the brothers had gathered all by herself, as well as the bond between the two and taken any chances of winning riches and a reputation from all of them.

When Haesten had come to him, offering him the chance to be his second-in-command as long as he delivered him those men who had grown tired of Sigefrid’s impulsive, aimless leadership and what ships they could take, he had taken it. Not that he had relished the betrayal. 

In truth, he was surprised he had survived the visit to their former lord. He never had expected Sigefrid to join them. It had been a fool’s hope and more and more, Dagfinn had begun to realise that Haesten was a fool. 

In fact, he was fool enough to get drunk every night and leave the organisation to him. At the same time, it afforded him more power and control than he had ever had before. 

“Are the scouts back?” He questioned one of the men nearby. 

“Not yet.” He made to tell him more but then his eyes were drawn to something behind and above him. 

He turned. 

The sky was on fire. 

“We’re being attacked!” He dove for cover as the volley of burning arrows rained down on them and killed the man he had just been speaking to. 

It was utter chaos after that. 

Tents were catching fire, injured were on the ground and barely any of them were fully armed, caught unawares as they were. 

There had been no warnings from their spies that the Saxons had been marching, after all, no large force had been spotted by the scouts even the day before. 

Then Dagfinn heard the thunder of approaching horses over the screaming and general roar of the fire. 

For a split second, he remembered how he himself had charged on horseback into a war camp once, chasing down the Saxon princess for his lords. 

There had been a redheaded woman screaming. “Death is coming!” 

“Riders! Hold your ground!” He yelled, grabbing a spear and joining a few others to organise some sort of shield-wall. 

He did not see Haesten, did not hear him giving any orders either. “Spears!” He commanded as the sound drew ever closer. 

By the glow of the fires, the riders could be seen approaching. He grabbed a shield from a dying warrior and got into position. 

It was only just in time before the horses slammed into their thin line. It was all too useless, of course. They found themselves scattered in a heartbeat. 

He was one of the luckier ones and found his feet again, shattered shield having taken the brunt of it. He threw it away, turning in a circle to get his bearings. 

There was Haesten finally, stumbling around half-dressed with his axe. His eyes were wild but almost immediately found his. “Who is attacking us?! Those aren’t Saxons!” He demanded, making for Dagfinn and just barely avoiding another rider’s blade. 

Before he had the chance to answer, a voice could be heard booming through the night. 

“Haesten!” One of the riders had picked up a torch and for a moment, the light showed quite clearly that it was Lord Erik searching the area from horseback, a spear at the ready in the other hand. He was guiding the beast in a circle using only his legs, displaying his skill and Dagfinn did not think he had ever seen him so furious. 

“Oath-breaker! Come and face me!” 

The panic abruptly left Haesten’s face and he grew red. “You are here for your BITCH! You’d kill your own men for her! Now they follow me!” He made no move to reveal himself though, instead making for the opposite direction when their former lord spurred the horse towards them, mowing down men in its wake. 

Dagfinn could pinpoint the exact moment he was spotted when icy eyes bore into his and Erik dropped the torch to reel the horse around again towards him. He did not charge this time though, only levelling the spear at him. “You used to be loyal, Dagfinn. Why throw your lot in with this coward?” 

“It’s your own fault, lord!” He snarled because if he was to pay the price for his miscalculations, then he would go proudly to Valhalla. “You lost your mind over that Saxon girl!” 

It was a poor challenge and he only had his sword, was not even wearing his armour, only a tunic but he raised his weapon anyway. 

Another charged at Erik and was impaled by the spear with barely a glance. These men had all fought for him once, did he not care? Dagfinn watched as he dismounted and picked up some corpse’s shield, throwing it towards him. 

Feverishly he noted how none of the other fighters bothered with him, as if he was Erik’s alone to kill. Somewhere in the distance, two horns sounded their retreat but he picked up the offered shield. There was to be no running for him. 

Erik too had collected a shield to match him and as soon as he was in range drove the attack. 

Dagfinn usually considered himself one of the better fighters but he could not match the other man’s utter fury. He did not know where he drew it from but he could tell this was a fight he would not be able to win. 

He found himself on the defense immediately, being driven back, struggling not to stumble over debris, bodies or into a fire. He tried to press back but his opponent just slammed at his sword arm with the shield, almost recklessly but forcing openings with brute precision. 

Managing to block a thrust, Dagfinn missed the shield’s edge coming towards him and it slammed into his skull hard enough to have him stumble back into a broken tentpole. 

The blade on his neck brought some focus back but it was too late. He was pinned. “Where is your new master?” 

He was going to die anyway. He blinked away the blood dripping into his left eye. “Gone to sell the bitch into slavery.” 

A punch split his lip and he spat weakly. 

“When did you become such a rat?” Erik snapped in his face, holding him up by the collar of his tunic. “You swore an oath to me!” 

“When did you forget your Danish blood for a Saxon cunt, lord?” He managed. “You could have taken it all. Everything. Once we had the silver, we could have marched on Wessex and you could have claimed her back! You betrayed us! You’re the traitor!” 

He had expected to be stabbed, a painful death that lingered but at least it would have paved his way to Odin’s hall. Instead, there was a punch to the guts that had him tumble to his knees and another cracking his cheekbone before he had even hit the ground. 

“You helped Haesten drive a wedge between my brother and me. You stole ships from your liege-lord! Oath-breaker! Liar!” The next blow sent him sideways, bruised cheek smacking against the ground though he was already in too much pain to really register it. 

His vision was fuzzy as he looked up to see his former Lord standing over him. “Take him. We’ll put him and Haesten in chains and decide what to do with them later.” He ordered, already turning from him before the two men stepped up to lift him none too gently, dragging him off the battlefield. 

***

Hild had been fighting with Uhtred and the others, clearing the camp. She spared a look at the Mercians both on the walls and in front of the gate. They were at the ready but also made no move to support their allies. 

It was a mistake that would cost them and one they had been counting on. Together their opponents would have dominated by numbers alone after all. Like this, with the Danes being taken out of the equation first, they stood a chance. 

They caught up with Lord Erik who was fighting right at the front. His men had formed up behind him as a unit, watching his back, well-trained and quick to follow his every order. 

She had never seen him fight before but this made her understand Uhtred’s respect for the man and why he had inspired so many men to follow him and his brother. 

“Leave some for us, Lord Erik!” Uhtred yelled laughingly, finding enjoyment on the battlefield the way only he could. 

Erik turned to briefly meet Uhtred’s eyes. “It is a little personal.” He told him, the bloodlust still aflame in his eyes. “They swore their oaths to me and my brother and betrayed their words.” 

“Well, I think you’re repaying them handsomely for it!” Uhtred joined him front and centre of their group. 

There was another horn that sounded further away than theirs or that of Haesten’s men. Almost all men still standing looked up to find where it came from.

There were ships on the river. Danish ships. 

“Does Haesten have allies we don’t know about?” Uhtred grunted where he had dispatched another Mercian soldier. 

Erik despite the fighting around them had gone very still. “I know those ships.” He blocked a spear thrust at him, cutting the rider down from his horse and jumping on it’s back to make for the river. 

“Follow him!” Uhtred ordered, stealing a horse of his own while Hild shared a glance with the others. Shrugging they did their best to start to cut a path to the shoreline. 

It was a little easier here because it moved them out of reach of the archers over the gates and the maneuver surprised the defenders enough that they pulled back to close ranks, instead of pushing them back further. 

They all tried to make the most of the short respite, forming their lines to protect their commanders’ backs from either side. 

***

He spotted his brother on a large buckskin coming straight towards the shore, shield up to protect himself from a few arrows that fell just short of the intended target. 

He had clearly been fighting for a while but as he dismounted he simply stood there, alone, looking half hopeful, half cautious, his sword and shield lowered but at the ready as if waiting for some signal.

Sigefrid returned his gaze from the prow of the first ship as they approached. 

“This is some mess you’ve got here, brother.” He noted loudly in lieu of a greeting and jumped ashore, his men following, readying their shields and weapons. 

Erik cocked his head a little, eyes narrowing, casting a look over his shoulder at the smouldering remains of Haesten’s camp and probably to check on his allies who were starting to form up behind him. “I thought you liked chaos.” 

They looked at each other in silence a moment longer but Sigefrid could not stop his lip from twitching and finally laughed out loud, taking the last few steps towards him, sword still sheathed by his side. 

“I do. It’s why I came.” He pulled his brother in for a rough embrace, ignoring the shield and sword he still held, slapping him playfully before stepping back to take in the war-band who had arrived behind him. 

He spotted Uhtred, raised an eyebrow and turned back to Erik who had dropped his shield for the moment, rolling his shoulder, sore from the fight and raised his chin in defiance when their eyes locked again. 

“Haesten stole half my ships. I came to take them back.” Sigefrid told him in a mock-serious tone and loud enough for the others to hear him.

“It’s good to see you, big brother.” Erik smiled then, bright and grateful and eyes shining as he squeezed his shoulder. 

Sigefrid looked away at the walls they were hoping to breach and cleared his throat. “Right then. Who am I killing?” He demanded, slipping the shield one of his men handed him onto his dagger-arm and drawing his sword. “I have lost track of who is friend or foe. I might get confused.” 

“Anyone who stops us from getting inside really.” The Irishman who fought by Uhtred’s side quipped while his brother kept throwing him side-glances as they started to walk towards the lines together, joining their warriors. 

Ignoring it for the moment, he simply locked his shield with Erik’s by habit and let his men form up beside him. “Well, allow me to make that easier for you. ARCHERS!”

A volley rained over them down on the defenders as they pushed their advantage and though the Mercians and Haesten’s men had formed up, they were not used to working together, their shield-wall messy and a fair number of their fighters went down. 

Their own fighters, on the other hand, were quick to work seamlessly together again, only separated by which of the two brothers they had followed, with Uhtred’s men also trained well enough to match them. 

A second volley (larger now for their archers had joined together too) yielded slightly less success but their shields could only take so much of a battering and they were facing newly arrived well-rested Viking warriors eager for a good fight.

“How were you planning to take the gate?” 

“It’s a new gate, replaced after a Viking raid when most of the wall came down.” Uhtred was the one who answered from somewhere on the brothers’ left. “So is that watchtower next to it and the structure has started to rot.” 

“You want to take the tower down?” Sigefrid grinned with glee, peeking out under his shield to take another look at their target. It was made of wood and clearly meant as a temporary structure. The burh was still in the process of being fortified, it was not ready for a proper siege.

Sigefrid spared a thought at how obvious it was that Haesten had clearly not bothered besieging this place, instead simply set up to wait. He hoped his brother had either killed him already or had him as a prisoner to have some fun with later on. He really was sick of him and his incompetence. 

They advanced further towards the line arranged in front of the walls, making it appear as though they were aiming for the gate. They should be able to flank them and make way for the waiting battering ram following behind, carried by the strongest of his brother’s men. 

It was a plan he could get behind. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t resist. Sigefrid is back. I like writing him too much now. From the show I really did get the sense that he loved his brother and with how he threw himself at Uhtred and into battle after he killed him, I wanted to explore their relationship a bit more.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for this and the next chapter, there will be descriptions of childbirth. Not too graphic I don't think but just thought I'd put it in.  
> With everything that's going on in the real world, I've had a bit of a case of writer's block but I'm doing a double update now to make up for it.

***

With the tower collapsed, they broke their shield wall and charged over the debris, taking the men on the other side down while they were still in shock at the sudden breach. 

Most of them had dropped their shields, littered and cracked by arrows as they were. Erik exchanged his for the axe he had carried in his belt, working his way towards what looked like the great hall Uhtred had described. 

It looked remarkably like a Danish longhouse rather than a fortress such as Wintancaester and he still wondered why Aethelflaed had been moved here if it was not ready to withstand a siege. These Mercians seemed to be far more stupid than any of them had thought.

Sigefrid had scaled the stairs to above the gate, cutting down the archers who were turning to try and face the new threat from within their walls, laughing and howling as he went. 

Uhtred and his men were taking the gate below, working to open it to allow the rest of their little army to rejoin them. 

The defending forces crumbled quickly under the onslaught and he climbed the stone steps to the hall with the others following at his back. He wanted to finish this quickly so he could find his lady and make sure they had not touched her in any way. 

Between Haesten and the Mercian lords and their ambitions, nothing could be certain anymore. 

***  
When they made it into the building, it seemed quite clear where they had hidden the treasure. Mercian guards were forming a last line of defence in front of a door that clearly led into some private quarters. 

As they approached, a guttural howl was barely muffled by the wooden doors. 

Hefting his axe in an instant, Erik did not even think, slinging the weapon at the face of the man in the middle and felling him before he could bring up his shield. 

He did not have the patience to try and form a more sophisticated plan of attack. He would break their little attempt at a shield wall with his bare hands if he had to. 

His brother seemed to be reading his mind or perhaps just hungry for more blood, charging by his side and slamming his dagger into another man’s face as their formation buckled in confusion and shock at the raw brutality of their combined attack. 

Within moments the two of them had found each other’s rhythm again, fighting back to back and taking down more than half their opponents while their followers were left to secure the entrances and take down the rest. 

It was Sigefrid’s dagger-hand that wounded the Head of the Guard’s shield arm while he blocked a thrust from Eric but it was himself who used the distraction to bind his blade and snap his arm. The bone cracking was not even close to satisfying his rage.

More hoarse screams from inside the chamber, the men had been guarding, had him still the killing blow and instead haul this man, Aldhelm, he vaguely remembered his name was, against the wall, sword against his neck. 

“How long has she been like this?” 

“Since last night. The nuns attending her have been praying all this time.” The man cowered under his glare, though his eyes were calculating, perhaps searching for a way to weasel away from death. He was cradling his broken, useless sword arm and Erik had to hand it to him, overcame his fear quicker than he thought. 

His sly eyes lit up with a sudden understanding. “It’s you. It was you all along.” Then he lashed out with a little dagger he had hidden in his vambraces and the blade nicked Erik before he could catch his arm and immobilise him again. He barely noticed the cut, eyes flicking from the Mercian in his grasp to the door behind him. 

“She killed him. She did it for you.” Aldhelm hissed, demanding his attention, apparently understanding this was the end. He drew himself up as best he could against the wall with a defiant expression. “And the heathen bastard in her belly.”

In one swift blow, Erik left him gargling on his own blood and pushed past the dying man. 

The door was locked but he did not have time for this and so he took up his axe again, yanking it free from a previous kill’s skull and brought it down on the lock. 

Someone called his name and he vaguely heard his brother’s voice telling them to shut up, taking a stance at his back, still with his guard up. They exchanged a glance, there would be much to speak of later. Sigefrid gave him a curt little nod.

Then he tore the door open and entered the chamber, slamming to a halt at the sight before him. 

She was all alone on the bed, two women were indeed with her but clearly out of their depth. One was praying while the other dabbed at her forehead with a cloth delicately and uselessly. 

There was no colour left in her face from what little he glimpsed of it, sweat soaking the bed as she writhed in obvious pain only to be held down and shushed. 

She looked more fragile, if possible, than when Haesten had caged her all those months ago, as she curled into her herself, clutching her swollen belly. 

The women looked up at him in terror and made the sign of the cross. 

“Out!” He heard himself bark at them, still brandishing the axe and seriously considering murdering them then and there for not helping her, for being more in the way than a comfort. 

“OUT!” He repeated when they did not move fast enough and as they scrambled past him, he dropped his weapons carelessly, rushing to the bedside. 

***

She could not remember how long she had been here, how long she had been in pain and struggling to breathe but she knew her mind had started to drift eventually and all she had been able to do was to cling to faith. 

Only it was not faith in God like her mother and father would have wanted. It was faith that they were coming for her, that out there, Erik had allied with Uhtred to break the siege and come to her. She had done all she could. 

She had heard the men whisper, had heard them doubt Aldhelm and had heard too about the deal he had made with Heasten. They would not have her or her child. Never. 

But as the hours crawled on, even faith could not stop her from growing weaker and weaker. Worn down as she was, she had wondered if all this would be for nothing and she and her child would simply die together, here in this chamber. 

She was too tired to think and so she drifted in this in-between place, sometimes dreaming, sometimes imagining and often plagued by her old nightmare from months ago. That she had watched Erik die, that her husband still tormented her, that all was lost and why not give in? Why not just let go and hope that a Christian like her would find her way to Valhalla to join him. 

Except it had not happened. She had made sure of it. He had written her letters, his writing improving with each and every one, meaning that more and more it was his own hand that replaced the scribe’s more sophisticated lettering. She had them hidden in a small box under her bed. So far Aldhelm had not found them. It was an unnecessary risk but she had not been able to throw them into the fire. She would not part from any scrap of comfort in these bleak days. 

What if this was God’s punishment for the murder she committed? Her husband was an evil man but what if she had gone against God’s plan? What if she was being punished for killing him? What if he would take her child from her for this and drag her down to hell? 

She thought there were voices, a man barking orders and if not for the pain that was ripping through her insides in waves, that was making her seize up all over, she might have managed to reach for the dagger she had hidden in her pillow. They would not take her, or separate her from her child. 

“Find Astrid, get her in here!” 

She thought she recognised that voice but it sounded muted, so far away with her ears not quite working, as if she was underwater. 

More voices, definitely men but growing quieter and then a shadow fell over her. 

She fought her heavy eyelids to better see what was happening, hated the way she was so helpless and could not protect the child fighting to come into this world. 

When it was a familiar, loved face that came into focus, she choked on a sob, stiff fingers crawling over the bedlinens, where she had been clutching at them to reach for him. 

He looked grim, covered in dirt and blood straight from the battlefield but his eyes under the dark warpaint were wide, and she could have sworn, looked fearful. 

She tried to speak but could only make a sound that was little more than a croak, hand still weakly reaching for him. 

He caught her fingers, touch light but enough to reassure her this was real. She clutched on with what little strength she had left, tugging at him and whining hoarsely in the back of her throat because words were beyond her, her throat raw from screaming for hours without end. 

He did not resist, the hand not holding her own burying itself in her hair as he leant over her, forehead to forehead and they breathed each other under all the blood and sweat and tears. 

***

Astrid had stayed with the archers rather than engage in the thick of things, aware that she might be needed after the fight and so she was not too surprised when she was ushered from the gate with haste by the troubled looking Christian nun in mail who had arrived with Uhtred Ragnarsson to help the lady they had all come for. 

The woman had informed her of what little she knew and shown her the path herself and the rest of Erik’s strange allies had carved for them. 

She had grabbed a servant girl who had been cowering behind some laundry baskets in the hall, asked her name and told her to come along. She would need all the help she could get if she were to fix this mess they had found themselves in.

There ahead were the commanders of the strange alliance, some of them lingering outside this chamber door like little boys and the sight might have been amusing if not for the dire circumstances. 

She nodded at her new ally to look to the two terrified nuns the rest of them seemed to be interrogating and though she looked ready to protest, she did as told after only a brief moment. They did not need to have anything getting in the way, least of all a lack of information if there was any about the lady’s state. 

Brida had explained to her her fears for the lady. Men may know how to fight but it would take more than that to save her if she was so near her time. Ragnar’s lover was a smart woman, she had not asked for Astrid to accompany this Thurgilson for nothing. 

As they entered the inner chamber, she had been prepared for the worst, that she would be too late. She quietly muttered a quick thanks to Freyja that it was not quite so bad. 

The lady was lying flat on her back, a pathetic shivering mess on the bed as she tried to huddle herself closer to her lover who was bent over her awkwardly like he did not know how and where to touch. 

She rolled her eyes and turned to the serving girl, telling her to gather clean linen and get hot water and soap from the kitchen before turning back to the couple. “Lord, you called for me.” 

His head shot up to find her standing at the end of the bed and for a moment he too looked like a little boy with that lost expression under all the grime he was still covered in from the battle. 

On the way here, they had spoken a little and from what she had heard of him, he was a capable warlord. He and his brother had made a name for themselves very quickly. Her own impression had been much of the same though she could tell that he was disturbed by the sudden turn his life had taken. 

“There comes a time when men need to grow up and learn that not everything is about glory and riches.” She had told him. “The most precious things are much simpler than any of that and if you find such a thing, you are more wealthy than any king.” 

He had ducked his head, looking into the campfire to avoid looking at her. “She is… precious… to me.” He had wrestled with the words. “I can’t seem to care about anything else.” 

She had laughed at him then because she was reminded of her lost husband, those men married to her daughters. “You warriors are all the same. Vicious enough in battle but have you fall in love and you’re like newborn foals who don’t know how to take a single step anymore.” 

A weak moan from the mother to be in the bed broke the spell and he lurched to his feet. “Help her!” He entreated but his sudden movement was distressing the lady more and she feebly tried to pull him back down to her level, whimpering and incoherent. 

There was that look on his face again, like a rabbit caught in a trap when she croaked his name, voice probably lost to all the screaming she must have been doing. The woman, the nun, who had gone to fetch her had said she had been labouring for a night and a day from what the sisters had told her. 

Astrid eyed him as he crouched back down, whispering to the lady softly while she washed her hands in the basin the girl had rushed to provide. “Take off your armour and get down to your under-clothes. You will be her birthing chair, lord.” 

She chuckled at the blank look of shock she received. “Are you a warrior or not? She wants you here, you might as well be useful. Sit behind her at the edge of the bed so that she can lean on you and give her your hands to hold on to.” 

The man had gone white as milk, but did as he was told, stripping off his bloodied over-things. “And wash off as best you can. Especially your hands.” She added as an afterthought, already reaching to feel out what might be causing all this trouble, hands prodding and pressing at the clammy skin of her belly. 

“I see the problem. Alright, sit her up.” She knelt down in front of the lady when he had her slumped against his chest and reached up to catch her lolling chin. “I will help you, child, but you must be brave. I have to turn the babe so we can bring it into the world. Now, you take strength from your Viking behind you and I will do the rest. Then when I tell you, you must be ready to push, you hear?” 

The red-rimmed eyes meeting hers were near delirious but then she seemed to rally, clenching her jaw and nodding, even sitting up a little bit. “Good girl. We’ll make a shieldmaiden of you yet.” 

She turned to the serving girl who had been wringing her hands by the door. “Gwen, is it? Hand me those linens. And get me more fresh hot water.”  
***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Erik is a lot more vicious here. I still find it kind of amusing that in the show, even though they clearly made him more a seasoned warrior than the book did, they kind of go out of their way to never have him 'do' anything on camera. He's sort of chilling while Sig kills people sure, but I can't remember him fighting until they face off at the end and definitely not killing anyone. 
> 
> I can almost see the writer's room like: "No,.... we need him for later, can't have him be a vicious raider. Nope, we have to be SUUUUPER careful here." 
> 
> Anyway, I'm ranting and probably delirious from self-isolation.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of the last chapter's WARNING concerning childbirth but still not too graphic.

***

It had been keeping her distracted, rushing off for more water and linen, or when she had been sent to boil a few instruments in a pot (she dared not ask questions*) and carried them hastily back into the chamber wrapped in a cloth while it was still hot along with more linens she had scavenged. 

Still, Gwen could not shake her fears. Something significant was lost on her. She had been aware they were under siege but the Lord Aldhelm had met with the leader, invited him for drink and food even (she had hidden in the kitchens thankfully, the other girls had told her what a horror this Dane who had apparently sworn himself to Alfred really was). 

Then more of them had arrived, only they had burnt down the camp and then truly attacked the walls. She had thought they would kill them all when she had been caught but then the warrior had turned out to be a tall grey-haired woman in armour who had asked her name with another wearing a cross around the neck looking on beside her. 

She ducked her head from the row of fierce warriors pacing and waiting in the hall as she passed them. They must have been the leaders of the attack. Had they come to rob the lady? Would they kidnap her and her child once it was born?

The woman standing with them, with the cross, had come in earlier and told them that the lady had, as suspected, been labouring since the previous day, that the nuns had not known how to help her and simply prayed things would take their natural course. 

The Danish woman had snorted with derision and told her to get the sisters out of sight before she was done with her work for she would kill them slowly herself if she saw them again. Gwen was not sure but she thought it might have been a savage joke. 

The other woman had taken one look at the scene and asked if things were in hand before leaving again after receiving another glare, clearly wishing she could help but not wanting to antagonise the Danish woman either. 

The old woman took the instruments off Gwen, still arms deep under the lady’s shift. She herself had looked only once and then avoided the sight. 

She had helped with her family’s goats, she knew the nature of birth but it was different when it was a high born lady. 

There had been another agonised scream but then she had seemed to breathe easier, head thrown back to rest on the Danish warrior’s shoulder who was holding her upright. 

More fearsome than the woman, with his long blond beard and scars and the ink covering the shaved side of his head and neck, he was utterly gentle with the lady. 

Gwen could not help but marvel at their familiarity because she had heard the lady was a widow, only as of recently, but these two looked as close as husband and wife. 

She tried not to be too obvious at her gawking as she watched him kiss her forehead, brush aside her sweaty hair and mutter things she could not hear into her ear. 

The lady trustingly tucked her nose into his neck, still grimacing and squirming, fingers tightly interlocked with his and his other arm snaked back around her chest to hold her more securely. 

The midwife sat back briefly with a deep sigh of relief, washed her hands again, set the instruments aside and then moved back into her position. “Not much longer, child.” 

The lady sobbed into her Dane’s skin and shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t. I’m so, so tired.” The words were slurred and barely audible.

“Well you must.” The old woman told her matter-of-factly, waving Gwen over. “Here, take these outside somewhere so they are out of the way.” 

She handed her the linens soaked with blood and birth fluids already and took the pile of clean ones setting them within arms reach. 

“I can’t, please.” 

“You can.” It was her Dane’s rough, deep voice who answered her pleas, this time loud enough for Gwen to overhear. “I know you can. You’re so strong,” He ducked his head down to press another kiss to her temple, “so strong, my love. I know you can do this.” 

Bloodied rags in her arms, Gwen fled the chamber just as the lady screamed again, feeling herself blush at the moment of intimacy she had been privy to. 

One of the men stepped into her path, the handsome one with the long-sword on his back, and grabbed her arm. “Any news?” 

She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes and when he let her go, she felt their eyes on the soiled cloths she threw into the large basket she had first brought them in so they were out of sight. She would dispose of them later. 

The woman with the cross and chainmail shot her an encouraging smile. She tried to soak up the sentiment and nodded, grateful for her compassion.

She took another shaky breath before returning to the chamber again, more screams and groans meeting her and then just as she looked up, there was another cry, that of an infant and the lady went utterly limp against her Dane, eyes rolling back into her head. 

“Aethelflaed?” He cupped her cheek, giving her a careful shake, looking more scared than Gwen thought possible for these wild raiders she had been taught to fear all her life. “Aethelflaed!” 

“She’ll be fine, lord. Let her rest for a moment.” The midwife had turned to the basin again, cleaning up the wriggling babe. All Gwen could glimpse were tiny flailing limbs before they were covered by white linen, the wailing turning into gurgling. 

She stayed in the doorway, wide-eyed at the sight of the unconscious Lady of Mercia in her bloodstained shift, still laying across this half-dressed Viking's lap as he cradled her close to him like she was the only treasure in the world. 

It was a sight she would be telling her grandchildren about as an old woman, she was sure. 

“Here, hold your daughter while I clean her up. You can lay her on the bed now.” The midwife had turned around and was presenting him with the child. 

Gwen blinked and knew that she had just learned a secret that would be more important than her life. Not an heir to the Lord of Mercia then, no, this child was half-Dane. 

She gulped as she watched how the midwife easily placed the babe in her father’s arms, placing his hands where they needed to go when he faltered so he was holding her properly. 

“Come. Up.” She patted his scarred cheek when he did not move fast enough for her liking. “We need the space. Maybe show her off to those lugs outside but don’t let them touch her until they’ve bathed the battlefield off. It’s bad enough that you were in here but your lady needed you.” 

She shooed him aside like a little boy, like he was not the fearsome warlord Gwen was sure he must be and he did as he was told, childlike wonder over his hard features as he seemed unable to take his eyes off the child he was holding.

Gwen moved to help with the lady, who was stirring a little restlessly, but her hands were shaking. “I…” 

The woman shot her a look but then she smiled. “Don’t worry, girl. It’ll not get you killed. I have a feeling in time this will come to mean only good things.” She went back to work. “Or so help me, I will bring Freyja’s wrath down on them all myself.” 

When Hild saw the door open, she had not expected to see Erik step out with a little bundle in his arms, looking like he had just seen the Almighty himself. 

There was blood smeared on his clothes, but since he was in only his breeches and under-tunic, it was probably not from the battle but instead the birth. They had all heard the screams stop and let out a collective breath when the babe had made itself known with its first loud cry.

There was a hush in the corridor as the men around her took in the sight, apparently struck dumb by it. 

She decided to take pity on the man, still standing there, looking lost except for the little life he was staring at with big, soft eyes. Walking up to take a look, she smiled gently. “A boy or a girl?” 

His mouth worked silently but after a moment he found his voice. “A girl.” 

“May I see her?” 

When he nodded dazedly, she reached out to push the blanket a little out of the way to find a tiny little face soft in sleep, the skin still wrinkled and a little flaky as all newborns were. 

Hild smiled at the Dane. “She’s beautiful.” 

He nodded again. 

“And the mother?” She asked though she thought the stunned expression on his face would be different if anything was wrong with Aethelflaed. 

“I- I…” He looked to the door, a little frown appearing. “Astrid says she’ll be fine.” 

Hild patted his shoulder comfortingly. The poor soul would not be able to string more thoughts together for a good long while if her experience was anything to go by. “I’m sure she will be.” 

“This is great news.” Uhtred noted, stepping closer too to catch a glimpse at the child. “We should celebrate.”

“Not near the little one, you won’t.” Hild scolded. 

He almost pouted but then took another look at Erik’s face. “You’re right. But I think this man does need a tankard of ale and possibly a seat.” 

Finan instantly went off in search of the kitchen, quite possibly glad of the distraction and the promise of a drink, while Sithric nudged a stool towards them with his foot, trying to hide his grin. 

“Here, friend.” Uhtred was actually trying to bite back his mirth when he had to put a hand on the new father’s shoulder to guide him down and sit before he fell over. He roughly patted his back in consolation, though the other did not react at all to the touch. “You’ll get used to it.” 

Hild looked up in time to see the retreating back of the dark-haired brother as he stalked off without a word, door banging behind him as he left the hall entirely. 

***

She found him prowling the courtyard, barking orders at the men who were either scavenging the field, helping the wounded or rounding up prisoners.

Hild decided that she was too curious to leave this be, even though the warlord was visibly fuming. She told herself he could ill afford to attack an ally and approached.

His eyes snapped up to pierce her with his rage. “You’re Uhtred’s nun, aren’t you? You know what I do to your kind?” 

Hild refused to be intimidated. “I imagine you rape them before or after you murder the priests?” 

He snarled but she stood her ground. She needed to know if this precarious alliance was already crumbling, simply because he was too angry with his brother’s choices after all. 

“May I ask why you have such a personal hatred for those of us dedicated to the cross?” 

“No, you may not.” He spat, watching as a group of prisoners was brought towards him. His eyes centered on one man in the middle who was limping stubbornly along with the others, his head down. 

“Dagfinn!” He charged forward, grabbing him by the neck and holding the point of his dagger-hand to his chin. “Where is your coward of a master? Did he run again?” 

The dark-haired man refused to meet his gaze even as Sigefrid shook him. “What did he promise you little turds? Lands? Women? You’re not stupid, you know he could not even hold Jorvik by himself.” 

Hild could not make out the mumble he received in reply but it must have been some Danish insult because in an instant he was on the ground, screaming in pain from the deep gash across his face he had just received. It looked like Sigefrid might have taken one of his eyes with the blow. 

“I won’t kill you yet, maggot, because you’ll tell me what you did with the plunder you stole. I’ll have it back, all of it! You’ll work it off!” He kicked the wounded man viciously before gesturing for some of his men to drag him away. 

He then looked back to Hild expectantly, as if he was waiting for her to protest like he was daring her to. 

She crossed her arms. “Do you feel better now?” 

Blinking in surprise, he barked a laugh. “You’re a strange nun.” 

She shrugged with a smirk, the odd mood-swings Danes seemed to have not phasing her anymore. “I am a survivor.” By the grace of God, she did not say, this one seemed to hate her religion enough. “You did not care to look at your niece?” 

Growling, he wiped the blood off his blade on the tunic of a corpse lying nearby. 

“If you did not come to help your brother -“ 

“That is why I am here, woman!” 

“Then why -“ 

“Because I wanted him back!” He hissed. “Back by my side where he belongs!” 

She tried not to roll her eyes at the constant interruptions. “You do not own him.” 

Squinting at her, he huffed. “No.” It was a childish admission, then like it was being dragged out of him: “He always did whine about getting a wife, a family. I thought it was nonsense.” 

“He was willing to risk quite a lot for the chance.” Hild noted carefully. 

The Dane harrumphed. 

“If you plan to stand in their way, I’d rather you told me now.” She pushed, gently, like she might with one of the faithful at home. 

Another eye-roll and a glare. “I will not. What’s the point anyway? I might as well try to fight the Gods themselves.” 

She let him wander off this time, sensing that at least in this he was sincere. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *For the purpose of this story, (magically) Astrid knows more about hygiene than later day physicians.  
> Historically people such as midwives had more knowledge than we are now officially aware of but I have yet to hear anything about anyone knowing about boiling water and it killing germs. There is, however, evidence that before the middle ages some cultures had medical knowledge beyond what we are now taught in history classes. 
> 
> Also, the reason why the birth is so much more traumatic than I imagine it was off-screen in canon is because there was no midwife around from the beginning. Again, there is evidence that lying flat on your back when you give birth is really unhelpful.  
> By contrast until male physicians started dominating birthing rooms, using a birthing chair was really the thing to do and in fact many cultures have the mothers squat(!!) because the position is better for gravity to help a sister out. So birthing chairs are a good alternative to that actually, let's be honest. 
> 
> Also, also, midwives did know how to turn a child in the womb if the position was not quite right. All these things are readily available to look up. 
> 
> RANT OVER 
> 
> ***  
> This was my note for one of the sections of the chapter, for your amusement:  
> (Maybe Uhtred laughing at our softie soft Viking who is all dazed and drained and sitting him down with the tiny, tiny baby, handing him a tankard for them to drink to the child?)
> 
> Other note: I feel bad about Dagfinn. I'm gonna have to make up for it with some other story. I did like him until Season 3...


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is not all that much plot in this chapter because so much has happened, I (and probably the characters) needed time to breathe.

***

Aethelflaed lay staring out the window the Danish woman had opened to let in some air. After she had set the babe into her arms, she had brusquely helped her with the logistics of the first feeding. 

All this was achieved through some haze, she found herself unable to shake quite yet. Even when she spotted Erik in a corner, looking both exhausted and unsure, she felt very little surprise. She could not have said how long he had been present, had not noticed the door opening and closing, or sensed his presence in any other way at all. For a long moment, she stared, not quite able to process, her thoughts swimming in the thick fog that her mind was trapped in. 

He was sat on a stool, leaning wearily against the wall, his seax across his lap like he was still fearing an attack even in her private chambers. It looked out of place with how he was otherwise down to his under-tunic and breeches.

Perhaps sensing her gaze, he looked up, his eyes looking clouded with fatigue, only gray smears of his customary warpaint remaining. It made him look both older and younger to her and it was then she realised that it was done. Everything was out in the open and there was no going back. 

There would be no more hiding for them. 

“I killed him.” She said, voice still hoarse and stared down at her daughter in her arms. She was unable to tear her eyes away from the little life she had risked so much for, that she had committed murder for and so did not see his expression. 

Erik pushed to his feet stiffly, she could see that much from out of the corner of her eyes and sat down beside her on the edge of the mattress. “I know.” 

“I did not hand him the poison myself, but I still killed him.” She sunk deeper into the pillows at her back, exhaustion, and pain slowly overwhelming her. “I should feel guilty, if I was a good Christian woman, I would feel guilty.”

He reached out and cupping her cheek, made her look at him. “Tell me.” 

“I gave one of his mistresses the poison, she put it in his wine in exchange for silver and a new life.” She swallowed, eyes burning from new tears and they already felt so swollen, the skin stretched tight. “I wanted to cut his throat myself. I wanted to see the life leave his eyes. And now I look at her,” she looked back down at her sleeping daughter’s face, “and I think that I would do it again, that I would happily kill anyone who tried to harm her.” 

He brushed at the tears with his thumb, visibly thinking it through. 

“I would have killed him for you. I still wish I could have. When I had him on his knees in front of me, I wanted to break his neck.” His voice was low and gentle, perhaps because of their child. “He hurt you. He tried to make you feel like you were worthless. Why any god should think killing such a piece of horse-dung to be a… a…” He tried to find the word. 

“A sin.” She whispered, a sob bubbling past her lips. “Killing my husband, me and you, our - our child!” She held her a little closer to herself, stroking a featherlight finger over downy soft cheeks. “Our child is a sin in the eyes of God.” 

“I thought your god was just? Is fighting a wrong that is done to you not your right?” There was anger flickering through his pale eyes but only for a moment before helpless distress won out. “Do you believe that?” He asked, tentatively. “Do you truly believe that?” 

Squeezing her eyes shut, she keened another sob but shook her head. “No, I… I don’t know.” 

“You should sleep, lady.” Astrid’s voice had them both look to the door. The old shield-maiden looked on sympathetically. “You need to try and find some rest, regain your strength. I will watch your daughter.”

She must have looked at her with some fear because she smiled as she reached for the child. “There will be plenty of time to worry more tomorrow.” Was all she said before leaving them alone, closing the door behind her. 

Aethelflaed’s arms felt empty without her daughter’s warm weight. 

“I should go.” Erik too made to get up but she grabbed for his arm in a panic. 

“Please, stay!” She did not want to be alone and feeling weak and worn down, all she wanted was to feel safe. If he left, she would wake up and believe that all this had been a dream. It did not feel quite real to her yet even now. 

He looked unsure for only a brief moment, before giving her a tired smile and after bending down to kick off his boots, lay on the bed with her, curling around her. 

She flinched when his arm went around her still swollen middle and he immediately pulled back, frowning and worried. “Does it hurt?” 

“No,… I mean, it does but it’s not…” Sighing, she turned her head enough to hide her face in his tunic. “It’s… just strange now.” No one had prepared her for the aftermath of having a child. She had been too young when her brother had been born and unlike herself, her mother had always been stout. It was different when it was your own body that suddenly felt alien. 

Keeping his touch light, he very carefully placed his warm palm flat over her belly. “Is the pain still bad?” 

She smiled and after a moment looked up to meet his worried, loving eyes. “No. I can bear it.” 

“That is not what I asked, lady.” He chided, ducking down so their heads rested against each other. “I know just how much you can bear.” 

“It’s a dull pain, nothing to keep me from sleeping.” 

Humming with displeasure at her answer, he made to remove his hand but she stopped him. “It helps.” She admitted, and it did, the warm touch was soothing some of the aching. She did not even mind that it made her more aware of her changed body. 

He kissed her cheek, settled in more. “Rest. Sleep. I will be here.”   
***

“Shield-maiden!” 

Astrid rolled her eyes at the barked call. “Can I help you, lord?”

“You used to serve Ragnar Ragnarson and fought at Ethundun, yes?” Sigefrid asked as he prowled up to her where she was standing on the ramparts. Gwen had taken a turn watching the lady’s child with strict instructions to bring her back to her mother as soon as she started crying so that she could be fed. 

The lord and lady would be getting little sleep for a while but with the siege and battle, there was no wet-nurse to be found and Astrid would have protested the idea anyway. Mother’s milk was what a babe needed to grow strong, that of the real mother. She would never understand this idea of not nursing your own child and was determined to prevent it here if she could. 

“I did. Amongst other things.” 

He eyed her. “Why do you follow my brother now?” 

Cocking her head, she met his dark, sly eyes. “My children are all grown, I am a grandmother. I am free to serve the goddess now. Your brother and the lady are where she led me.” 

Making a derisive noise, he leaned on the rampart, squeezing and fiddling with the wooden brace that he wore on his wrist-stump. She doubted he was aware of it, or he would not allow her to see. 

“That is not an answer.” He noted, looking at her suspiciously. “That is what a seeress would say, are you a seeress?” 

“No, lord. I am a shield-maiden.” 

Giving her another look, he turned back to look at what remained of the battlefield. “Why did the great army lose at Ethundun?” 

She sighed. “It was not the great army anymore at Ethundun. They had whittled down our numbers and in the field, Guthrum had no orders to give when it became apparent that the Saxons were stronger than expected.” 

He harrumphed, still clutching his right arm and kneading uselessly at the brace. “So it was his failing. I gathered as much.” 

“No, lord, you don’t understand. It was not on the field he failed. It was before when he did not see clearly when he thought to win by sheer force alone. Wars cannot be won by numbers.” 

He sent her a side-glare, hand still encircling his lost wrist. “My brother always says the same thing.” 

“Your brother is a clever man.” She knew that much from having fought for him even only the once. 

Sigefrid sneered though it was half-hearted. “I used to think so.” He shifted again, almost like he could not keep still, like a horse suffering from colic. 

“Great armies are difficult to keep together. That is how the Saxons win and we lose.”

He growled something rude under his breath and made to storm off but she stepped in his way before he could, staring him down. 

“Come with me, Lord.” She waved him along, making for the kitchens and into the pantry. It was almost empty, they had managed to send men on hunts already but it would take time after the siege. 

There was a backroom reserved for drying herbs. 

“Sit.” She pointed at a stool and table by the door. 

He narrowed his eyes at her but after a brief stand-off did as told. 

She gathered what she could and grabbed a mortar and pestle, gesturing at his dagger-hand. “Take it off.”

He hesitated. 

“It is no shame to care for one’s wounds.” Mixing the ingredients, she went to work. 

\- “It has been years since this was a wound.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” 

With another suspicious look at her, he started to unbuckle the crude thing and could not hide the wince when it came off, thunking to the table. 

“You could have gotten an iron hand. Why a dagger?” 

“It suits my purposes more.” 

Astrid gave him an unimpressed look and bringing the mortar with her, sat across from him. It was just as she thought. The thin skin and scar-tissue at the top of his stump was rubbed sore and the straps had left it bruised as well. The wounds were weeping blood and liquid and she could tell there were blisters too. 

She clucked her tongue, looked at the brace to see the wool and sheepskin that was padding the inside of it, was also dotted with blood. “This is not how a warrior should treat his weapon.” 

He grumbled and flinched away when she reached for the limb. 

Sighing and begging the Gods for patience, she held out her hand instead, waiting. 

Sigefrid grit his teeth, staring her down. 

She raised an eyebrow. 

With a long-suffering grunt, he held out his arm, looking away at the far wall. 

“You’ll need new padding and I’d tell you to leave the brace off for a time but I know you won’t listen, lord.” She tagged the title on a little belatedly. 

He twitched when she started applying the paste but stubbornly kept his head turned away. “You say you serve the goddess. I assumed you meant Freyja, not Eir.” He groused, though she could see the cooling herbs were already taking effect, his demeanor relaxing a little. 

Astrid shrugged and reached for the bandages she had also collected. If he would not let the sores heal in the air, she would at least bind them properly. “We always serve all the Gods and being a midwife is about more than birthing children, just as being a shield-maiden is about more than killing men.”

Harrumphing again, he watched from the corner of his eyes as she tied off the bandage. “There. Perhaps with the pain easing you’ll be able to control your temper more.”

“You speak out of turn, woman.” It was a surprisingly mild reprimand. He pulled back his arm but made no move to replace the brace for the time being and that deep furrow between his low brows was gone for once. “Who do you think you are?”

She gave him a look. “You are not my liege-lord. I serve your brother and his lady.” 

“Yes, so you’ve said.” He was staring again like it disturbed him that he could not read her. 

“Lord Ragnar and his lady approached me about helping your brother and I have frankly missed the air of battle. So now I am here.” 

Sigefrid drummed his fingers on the wood, thinking. “Your husband does not miss you?” His eyes were shifty as they searched hers. 

“My husband has been dead for a long time.” 

“Your lover then.” 

She laughed and he frowned gaze dropping, and if one such as he could, he would be blushing. “Are you propositioning me, Lord? Am I not too old? Does a warlord such as you not look for younger prey?” 

“Ehh…” He managed, clearing his throat. “Young women are too much work, squealing and whining too much too.” 

“And you think it will take less work to satisfy me?” She gave him an amused once-over. “I’m not sure you have it in you.” 

He grinned wickedly. “I like a challenge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop glossing over childbirth and postpartum stuff please, TV and film, thank you! 
> 
> Also, I'm sorry, but I've been struggling to write during lockdown so the updates might be slower. Not much more to go on this one though. Lots to wrap up and then I can get back to finishing Wolves of Valhalla properly. I've escaped that task until now lol


	11. Chapter 11

***

“Riders. Carrying Alfred’s banner.” It was Uhtred himself who had come to bring the news followed by Hild. 

Aethelflaed looked up from where she had been watching her daughter sleep in her arms quite contentedly after having finished feeding her once again. They were getting better at the whole affair between the two of them. 

“Get me up.” She demanded of Astrid instantly, making to swing her legs over the side of the bed. 

“No.” Erik had staggered to his feet from where he had sat by her side, arms outstretched. She fixed him with a glare but his eyes were soft as ever, only concerned. “Aethelflaed, please. You need to rest.” 

He too was still tired and stiff from the battle and everything else, she could tell, yet he had decided to sit and watch over them, even going so far as to don his leather armour again and keep his sword by his side. 

“I would agree, lady. We can bring your father to you.” Uhtred noted before she could speak, he too had moved closer on instinct. 

“I need to meet my father on my feet.” She told them and grasped Erik’s hand with the one not holding her child to her chest to try and lever herself onto her feet. His other one instantly came to steady her but still, she wavered on her feet and had to lean against him, their daughter between them. “I need to be the first to speak to him.” 

The Danish woman rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll get you some ale and I have some herbs* to chew that should strengthen you enough for a little while.” She winked. “Not too much though. We don’t want the princess to turn berserk. Now sit back down and I will get it for you.” 

Aethelflaed allowed Erik to guide her into the chair he had occupied. “I need one of my dresses.” She said, mind racing as she thought of what she needed to say to her father, what she could say in the presence of whoever was with him.

Hild sent her a smile. “I’ll find you one.” 

“I’ll talk to the men and send Finan to meet them.” Uhtred was quick to offer, probably just to have a reason to leave. She was sorry for it. He was one of the few present who might be able to advise her. Then again, her father and he did seldom see eye to eye so perhaps not. 

“Fleda.” Erik knelt before her, one hand still on her arm, the other reaching out to stroke their daughter’s tuft of hair as if he could not help himself. “Are you sure?” 

She smiled despite herself. “What did you just call me?” 

He looked up from their child, thumb stroking circles on her tiny head, to soothe her or himself, she was not sure. “Fleda?” 

She laughed, shifted her child so she had one hand free, and cupped his cheek. “I like it.” 

The smile he gave was shy and his eyes barely held hers for longer than another breath, drifting away, like he could not bear to look at her for too long. 

She thought of the litany of reassurances and pledges of devotion he had whispered in her ear the night before, the strength it had given her then and of the long time, they had spent apart. Would they have to re-learn each other entirely?

“This is new. I hadn’t noticed it.” She brushed her fingers over a barely scabbed cut dissecting his left eyebrow. “Another scar for your collection. Do you Danes not own helmets?” 

“It’s not nice to tease.” He reached for the injury self-consciously but she could tell he was smiling the tiniest bit. 

“I’m not teasing.” She smiled a little sadly. “Are you hurt anywhere else that you’re hiding from me?” 

That made him meet her gaze again. “No.” 

She stared him down and he fidgeted. “I’m fine. I promise.” He paused for a deep breath, to gather himself, brow wrinkling. “I’m worried about you.” 

“I will be fine too. This is a battle I must fight for us.” 

The baby started fussing then, wriggling and screwing up her face as if she could feel the tension in the air. 

“Here.” Erik eased her from her arms to his and got up to rock her a little clumsily but it seemed to do the trick because she quietened down almost right away. 

“She needs a name.” Athelflaed watched them, unable to stop herself from smiling again. She would never not love the sight. 

“She does.” He agreed easily enough. “You must have thought of one by now.” 

She faltered, still surprised when he deferred to her for decisions. “Have you?” 

“Fleda.” He said again as if he was still testing it and sat on the edge of the bed so they were eye to eye. “I had not ever thought of living to see this day. I didn’t come to your country expecting to find a wife, to find a family. This is more than I ever dreamed of. You should choose the name.” 

Struggling with a sudden onslaught of emotion at his confession, she stared a moment longer. 

“As long as you don’t insist we call her Sól.” 

She giggled at the suggestion and his teasing smirk. “No, no, I think that’s not necessary.” 

“Or Thisbe or Hero or whatever else these Roman women were called.” He continued with a mock-considering look at their daughter’s face like he was trying to decide which one would fit worse. 

“Stop it!” She snorted, still laughing. “Now you’re the one teasing.” 

“Maybe.” He shrugged, grinning, and looking inordinately proud of himself. 

“Aelfwynn.” 

“What does it mean?” 

“Elf’s joy. It was in some old book in my father’s library. I think it was from Ireland. I used to think I’d want a daughter of that name one day.” 

He nodded solemnly. “Aelfwynn it is.” 

She blinked. “Don’t you want her to have a Danish name?” 

Another shrug. “She’ll always be Eiríksdóttir if…” He trailed off, looking unsure and pained. 

There were footsteps approaching but she leaned in anyway, tucking the edges of the blanket tighter around their daughter, their Aelfwynn, as she did but searching his downcast eyes.

“Aelfwynn Eiríksdóttir it is.” She affirmed and grasped the collar of his leathers to pull him in for their first proper kiss since she had left Beamfleot. 

“If you are quite ready, lady, I have brought you a dress.” Astrid’s teasing voice interrupted them far too soon. 

They were both flushed as they separated, chastened like children. 

Erik made as if to speak in their defense, then shook his head and got up, pressing another long kiss to the crown of her head. 

With a glare at Astrid, he re-adjusted Aelfwynn in his arms as she made to reach for the child. “I have her.” He growled, casting one last lingering look back to meet Aethelflaed’s eyes before he slipped out the door.

***  
When the king came riding through the gates, they had lined up like dimwits to greet him. The princess was at the front, stubbornly standing there as if she would be able to shield them with her body. 

Her dress was blue, like the banners of the men who had kept her captive. He was not entirely sure what message she was trying to send with it. 

At her shoulder, watching her like a hawk was his brother, his child in his arms. Sigefrid was pretty sure Erik had not let the babe out of his sight since it was born. At least he still wore his sword and seax at his belt, axe tucked at the back too. All the good it would do if he had to defend himself with his hands occupied as they were.

Sigefrid made a face. He was lurking further back, behind Uhtred and his men and leaning against a wall. It was unlike himself but he did not like this business at all. 

Alfred was as like to kill them on the spot as he was to accept that two Viking warlords who had once been her captors had come to free the Lady of Mercia from her own lords. Never mind the soppy truth, that one of them had utterly lost his mind over her. 

Who knows, with those strange Christian rules and laws, maybe it had been their right to imprison her and sell her to Haesten for the price of the child? They were weird people with weird ideas of what was right or wrong. Mostly those rules seemed to change however they saw fit. 

The thin man on his horse was just what he expected from this so-called Alfred the Great. He watched as he gestured for the men who were with him to stop and dismounted, approaching his daughter alone. 

He looked at the men behind her with suspicion and briefly even met Sigefrid’s eyes. He cocked his head in challenge but the king’s gaze moved on swiftly to land on Erik and the child he was holding. 

He faltered almost imperceptibly but kept walking until he was in front of Aethelflaed. Those sharp eyes in that narrow face made clear he was not to be underestimated. “You are well?” He asked, quite collected for someone who had his child imprisoned a second time, Sigefrid thought. 

“I am.” She smiled before throwing herself into her father’s arms. He hugged her back, though his eyes over her shoulder were still taking in the rest of them, calculating. 

“What happened, Aethelflaed?” The king asked, disentangling himself. 

“My ladies were sent away, my household replaced by Aldhelm’s people. He had planned to sell me to Haesten after my child was born. The two of them were holding me here together in the end.” She explained, stepping back so she stood next to Erik. 

“I got word to Lord Erik through Uhtred’s men. He and them, along with his brother saved me.” 

Alfred had to look up to meet his brother’s placid eyes, Sigefrid noticed with some amusement. “And what do they ask in return?” 

“Well, that gold and silver we once asked for would be nice.” He piped up, everyone’s attention on him in an instant. “Maybe half of what he had agreed back then?” 

His brother shot him a look. “What? I do have to make it worth my men’s while.” Sigefrid grumbled.

“If it is a reward you want, you might have negotiated with me first,” Alfred noted, eyeing him with caution. “But I am sure something can be arranged.” 

He turned back to his daughter. “I started marching as soon as I could be sure there would be no spies reporting back my movements. I was coming for you.” 

Aethelflaed smiled brightly at that. “I knew you would. I just called on my own allies as well.” 

The king nodded jerkily, eyes once again wandering over the group surrounding her. “So I see.” He did not seem pleased, avoiding to look at his grandchild all together. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bog myrtle - vikings ate/drank it before battle apparently but it’s pretty much a wonder herb according to some advocates of it.


	12. Chapter 12

***

“Why did you really come for her?” 

Erik turned from where he had been about to go out and check on the sentries. Just because the king was staying with them, did not mean he or his men trusted the army at their doorstep without keeping watch. 

King Alfred sat at the end of the table, staring into the fire with a goblet in his hands. “She was your hostage for weeks, even months. Why would she trust you to come for her? Why did you come?” 

With only a moment of consideration, he decided they might as well have this confrontation here and now. He approached to stand across the man, crossing his arms. “I thought your daughter told you everything.” 

The remark earned him a sharp gaze. “She told me that it was you who sabotaged your own plans by allowing Uhtred and his men to take her. That you and she had been exchanging letters since then, that you had left your brother and no longer raided our lands.”

The king studied him but he just nodded. “We did. I did.” He did not want to antagonise the man unnecessarily but he would also not duck his head like a slave. 

Alfred took a careful sip of his wine. “The child. She is not Aethelred’s.” He spoke deliberately after, trying to dissect him with a look. 

“No. She is mine.” Erik admitted, sitting on a chair across from the kings. “You could have asked your daughter the same question.” 

“I am asking you.” There was anger there. It was tightly controlled but there. He wondered what would happen if he ever let loose on the reigns. This was a dangerous man, not for his physical strength, but for the sharp mind that had gotten him into the position he was in. 

“Her name is Aelfwynn, Aelfwynn Eiríksdóttir.” He explained slowly, testing the waters. 

Again, no visible change in the king’s expression, though his free hand balled into a fist. 

“So you steal and dishonour my daughter with a bastard child and yet she looks at you with something one could mistake for love.” 

He had expected the blow, this was a game of wits and for Aethelflaed, he could not afford to lose this. He would not be provoked. “Not something like it, Lord. I love her and she loves me.” 

The king slammed the goblet on the table. “You are a heathen. Your brother and yourself crucified priests in Lunden, you burnt down villages and cities alike. You stole her before to fund an army that would destroy both Wessex and Mercia.” He was talking himself into a frenzy, spittle flying, and the rage finally showing itself. 

His own eyes narrowed dangerously but he did not move. “The husband you gave her to, yourself, belittled her, mistreated her, and yet he was a Christian. I hear he had plenty of mistresses and that whores frequented his halls.” He kept his tone even, smooth.

The man’s mouth twitched, nostrils flaring but nothing more. Just a tiny tell to see that the information was either new to him or he simply did not want to hear it. Erik wondered which one it was. 

Had Alfred known about these things and chosen to watch? Was binding Mercia to himself more important than the daughter he so claimed to care about? What would he do if Aethelflaed ever disagreed with something he wanted, if she ever rebelled against his will?

“I never hurt her. I never would. Nothing will happen to her or your granddaughter as long as they’re with me.” He swore because he had made that oath to himself many times over the last few days. “The Gods be my witness, I’d die first.”

In the lengthy silence, a part of him worried he had given too much away. He was not used to these lengthy word games and had tried to keep score but the king had this shrewd look in his eyes. 

“If you swear an oath to me and agree to be baptised, perhaps I might let you marry her and give you Mercia.” Alfred finally spoke hoarsely, leaving the offer to dangle in the air between them. It was a test, that much was obvious but it also showed what really mattered to the king. 

There was nothing that this man would not sacrifice for his dream of a united England. Anyone who stood in the way was a danger, a rival. If Aethelflaed was ruling Mercia, independently with her own allies, unvetted by him, blood might not be enough to protect her. 

“Lord, I cannot swear any oaths.” He entreated. “Your daughter already owns all of me. I have sworn myself to her and her alone. I can only serve one master and as long as I breathe it will be her.” 

The king drummed his fingers on the table, the mask cracking and pursed his lips in thought. “I will not allow her to marry a heathen.” 

He could not help it, he chuckled. “I’ll never understand why Christians think a quick dunk and some words will change the kind of man you are.” 

There, that seemed to be a little look of shock at the audacity. So there was something of a human being behind that cold and subtle mask.

Good, he was tired of this game. “As your daughter is a widow, even your god allows her to freely choose if and who to marry. It is really up to her if she will have me.” 

“You cannot have Mercia.” 

“I do not want Mercia!” Erik sighed because this man would never trust him anyway, he could see it now. He got to his feet, to do what he had been meaning to do. “Only Aethelflaed.” 

“And your brother?” The king called after him. “What does he want?” 

“I suggest you pay him well, Lord.” He shot him a smirk as he opened the doors. “Do not worry about him. He will want to hunt down Haesten.” 

***

“Where’s your pup, princess?” Sigefrid wandered into the doorframe of the study the princess had retreated into. He had unsheathed his dagger-hand, polishing it with a piece of cloth and idly looking around the little room.

“Astrid took your niece for a walk and Erik is probably being interrogated by my father, but you know that.” She sat back in her seat, placing the quill down she had been using to write something or other. 

-“True.” He admitted cheerily but watched in surprise when she picked up the little knife next to the parchment she had been writing on and twirled it through her fingers before scratching at some dried ink, ignoring him and instead apparently still busy writing. 

He growled a little, dropped the cloth and instead prodded at the carvings in the door frame with the tip of the blade, wedging it under the little crosses to see if they might come off. Two could play that game. 

He had cracked three of them by the time she looked up, visibly grinding her teeth. “Are you bored, Lord Sigefrid or was there something you wanted?” 

He licked his lips, taking another moment to ruin another little cross carving. “You know I used to think you might have bewitched my brother.” He told her apropos of nothing, inspecting his work. “But I admit I got that wrong. You’re just exactly his type of woman.” 

She set the little knife aside, again with a flourish that was unnecessary but an obvious warning. “Is there something you wanted?” She repeated, not a shred of the shaky little thing, she had been when they had her up in that cage, remained in the Lady of Mercia. 

“Yes, I would like things to go back to the way they were before we took your sorry arse to Beamfleot.” He admitted, letting up on the mutilated wood and leaning against it, facing her.

Her expression was as stony as her father’s, unreadable. 

“I thought about killing you,” He continued matter-of-factly, “but you know as well as I how that would end. So you tell me, princess. What am I to do?” 

She stared at him like she was trying to solve a puzzle. “Did Erik tell you that we meant to run together?” She eventually questioned, her hand fiddling with the knife again, twirling it on its point. 

Sigefrid snorted, nodding with little to no incredulity. “The way he was mooning over you, I’m not surprised. He was acting like a fool. He’d have followed you anywhere.” He sneered. “Still will.” 

“Would you like to know why he did not?” She flipped the blade again, setting it aside next to the quill and indicating the stool across the desk she was sitting on. 

“I imagine you’ll tell me.” He grumbled but sat himself down anyway. 

She deliberated a little longer. “I convinced him to stay behind.” 

Sigefrid hummed doubtfully. 

She got to her feet with a little wince and wandered over to the window. “I had a dream. I wanted to dismiss it for a nightmare but I could not shake it. When I told Erik he told me that your Gods send dreams sometimes as warnings.” 

She left him waiting again, apparently finding the moon out there more interesting than the thing she claimed to want to tell him. 

“By Thor’s hammer, woman, speak!” He groaned, arms thrown wide in defeat. She was as bad as her father in the games she could play. Why ever did his brother have to find himself such a difficult woman? 

She kept her back to him but he was sure she was smirking at her victory. “I dreamt you killed your brother. That the two of you fought and you stabbed him in the heart.” 

Turning, she fixed him with an accusing glare, arms crossed. “I couldn’t risk it happening. I told him to let Uhtred and the others take me and that I would find a way to send for him when I could.” 

“He lied to me. For you.” Sigefrid threw back. “My brother never lied to me before.” 

The princess was watching him closely, waiting. 

Her words began to sink in. Was this why Erik had confronted him and left? Because he thought his own brother would have killed him had the Norns not interfered? He had after all privately admitted to himself that in a moment of blind rage…

“I should have known this was different,” Sigefrid admitted reluctantly, “when he lied for the first time.” 

She said nothing, eyes unreadable but never breaking her gaze. 

He watched her. There was something more she had not told him. 

“I killed you for it.” She said lightly. “In my dream. I stabbed you through the heart just like you did him.” 

That, he had not expected. He squinted at her. That slip of a girl? And yet, with what he had seen, with how fiercely protective the two of them were of each other, he almost believed it. “You think you can kill, princess?” 

There was a dark smirk on her lips. “I know I can, I have.” 

He blinked, then remembered her husband’s sudden death. Looking at her with new eyes, he nodded. “Huh.” He said. “Did he squeal?” 

Her face was once again like stone. “He did not have time to. Poison will do that.” 

Barking a laugh, he wondered how he could ever mistake her for a soft, little girl. Did his brother know just how much steel was in her spine? Was that why he loved her so fiercely?

“So now what happens?” He made himself more comfortable in his seat, stretching his legs. “Will you parade your tame little Viking in front of your father’s court? Baptise him with a new name like they did with Guthrum?” 

He received a sharp black look for the taunts. 

“I will never force him to do anything.” She moved back to her own chair. “My father might want certain assurances, but I am the Lady of Mercia.” 

Sigefrid looked at her with obvious skepticism. “I may not be the tactician my brother is, but even I know that he married you to that little lordling to increase his influence over Mercia, not for you to rule it as queen.” 

She conceded the point with a half-shrug. “That may be true, but if he does not support my claim to the title, another lord will try to take charge of the Witan. He would want that even less.” 

Thinking this through, he leaned forward to rest his elbows on her desk. “Where does that leave my brother and your little Half-Dane?” 

She licked her lips, shrinking a little in on herself, looking just a little less sure. “I’ll not lie about her parentage to the Witan and my father might prefer if there is no heir apparent to Mercia. It will bring his dream of one united England closer.” 

There was pain in her expression at the thought. He wondered why. 

“As for Erik,” She hesitated. “He already agreed to be my sworn sword. He is a heathen so there is no Christian priest who will marry us and the Witan will simply see me as a widow with a pagan lover and a bastard child.” 

Grimacing, Sigefrid shook his head. “You people are so complicated. We have shamans too. In fact, with the midwife and Uhtred’s lot, there are six of us witnesses, to you having bedded each other. It’s essentially already done without a ceremony needed.” 

“Is that how it works for Danes?” She wondered, the mask of the lady replaced with that of a young girl in the blink of an eye. “I had wondered about it.” 

The whole thing was giving him a headache. “Usually there is more drinking and feasting.” He admitted reluctantly. “Also Erik hasn’t technically paid a mundr and we haven’t received a dowry.” 

Instantly her expression was that of the politician again. “My father already agreed to a reward. That should be dowry enough and I will give Erik lands so that he might join the Witan as an Ealdorman.” 

Sigefrid snorted. At least that part sounded funny. “I’m sure they’ll welcome him with open arms.” 

“If my father backs it, they will have no choice, besides, we can claim the right of conquest. You all have effectively taken possession of Sealtwic.” 

He gave her a considering look. That did not at all sound stupid. “And the mundr?” 

Her eyes returned his gaze quite serenely. “You promise to never attack Mercia or Wessex again.” 

That was not what he had been expecting her to say. He laughed outright. “That’s all? That’s a cheap bride price, princess.”

She smiled coldly. “But hopefully one we can all live with.” 

Still chuckling he nodded. “Fine by me. I’ve been thinking about leaving this damn island. The Gods don’t seem to favour me here.” 

***


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! I am done! There might be a coda but I won't promise anything because I want to focus on Wolves of Valhalla now.  
> I think there are a lot more questions that I could be answering but then I would have to effectively re-write Season 3 and 4 with Erik around and tempting though it is, the pandemic is keeping me too busy with existential issues to be completely honest.

***

“What would you do?” The king knelt next to her in the little chapel the estate had. 

Hild considered the question, unclasping her hands and sitting back on her heels. “What is it that you find most troubling with the situation, my lord?” 

He looked up at the cross on the altar. “What is not troubling about it?” He sighed, then visibly sorted through his thoughts. 

“I believe it is the fact that with all my attempts to guard the kingdoms of England from the heathens, now my daughter has borne one of them a child out of wedlock. One conceived while her Christian husband was still alive, no less.” 

“What matters more to you? The chance of losing her entirely, or what this alliance might mean for her and your reputation?” Hild knew that Aethelflaed would not give up her little family. She was a dutiful daughter but this would go beyond her loyalty to her father. 

“You think she will run away with him if I try to oppose them being together.” 

“I know she will. It was what they had planned to do all along and now they have a child to strengthen their bond. Neither will let the other go.” She bent a little closer to speak for the couple. “They truly love each other. Both have moved mountains to get here. Not even you as the king and her father will be able to take it from them a second time.” 

He nodded, deep in thought. “So what do you suggest?” 

“I would suggest to speak to them both. A solution might be found easier together rather than apart. I would also suggest you consider less the fact that this man is a pagan and see him more as the man who makes your daughter happy.” 

Giving her a look, the king got back to his feet. “Thank you as ever for your wisdom.” 

“Perhaps you might think of this in a positive light, too? Wessex has Uhtred. Mercia could have it’s own warrior protector this way.” Hild too got up but bowed to him as she spoke. 

“That is… one way of looking at it.” He admitted. “He brings fighting men and potentially protection from his brother’s raids.” 

Hild smiled. “God works in mysterious ways, lord.” 

He gave her a long hard look. “Perhaps he does.” 

***

Uhtred sought him out in the end, tired of waiting for the inevitable. Sooner or later, this truce would no longer hold between them.

Sigefrid had been sleeping on his ship, so he waited at the quay in the morning. 

The older of the Thurgilson brothers dunked his head in a bucket, apparently having spent the night drinking with his men. He only gave him a brief, dark glance, before wandering into the bushes to take a piss. “What do you want?” 

“To talk.” 

Sigefrid grunted, adjusted his breeches. “Why does everyone want to talk these days? What has become of fighting?” 

Uhtred could not help it, he chuckled. “It is fighting that I want to talk about.” 

He received a squinty look before Sigefrid sighed, coming to stand on the wood planks too. “You want to know if I’ll challenge you for my hand?”

Eying each other up, it was Uhtred who sighed next. “Alright. If that is what you want.” 

“What I want is my hand back, you dog of a Saxon king!” Sigefrid threw off the sheath of his dagger-hand and charged him, leaving him barely the time to block the attack with his seax. “Do you want to know what it is like?” 

He leant in, close, ignoring the two crossed blades and continued spitting venom in his face. “Shall I take your sword-hand too, so you can retrain yourself to fight like a little boy? So that you can struggle with eating, riding and humping and anything else that you never realised requires two good hands? Shall I show you what it is like to be a cripple?!” 

He pushed at the blade, stepping out of range for long enough to interrupt. “I cannot give you your hand back.” It was a silly thing to say, would he want to duel him or not? That was what he had come to know. He had rather face it like this than wait for it. 

Snarling, Sigefrid did not press the attack, instead looked at something behind him. “What do you want? Why are you all coming to me? Shouldn’t you wish to speak with my brother? He is your ally now!”

It was in fact, Alfred who stood a little further up the path when Uhtred threw a glance over his shoulder. He did not know how long the King of Wessex had been watching them, but he had a good idea that the man had already drawn some conclusions. 

He warily watched Sigefrid step away from him, eyes on the king and spit at him before turning, marching back towards his ship. 

“Is he always like this?” Alfred asked when he came to stand by Uhtred’s shoulder. 

“I did tell you his brother is the more level-headed of the two, lord.” He noted, eyes still on the fuming Dane who was currently kicking at his men to get up, to scrub down the ship. “T'is why there have been only small raids lately. Together, they commanded armies, apart -“ 

“Apart they are but a small threat.” The king finished. “And if I allow Erik to remain with my daughter there is another tactician, another warrior to count as my own. Is that what you are saying?” 

Uhtred shrugged with a smirk. “You said it, lord. Not me.” 

There was that little twitch of the king’s mouth he saw at times when, despite himself, he could not fight the amusement. 

“How much silver will it take to satisfy this brother, then? And perhaps to have him refrain from taking my sworn warrior’s sword-hand?” 

***

It was to both their surprise that her father came to see them in their chambers. 

Aelfwynn was once again in Erik’s arms as he entered and Aethelflaed stood from where she had been sitting on his thigh, the three of them huddled together in the window seat. 

Alfred waited for them both to stand, face unreadable. 

“I intend to stay for the assembly of the Witan and to make sure no one doubts your title as Lady of Mercia.” He spoke, clasping his hands behind his back. “And… I would like to see my grandchild.” 

Her and Erik exchanged a glance, still both cautious. 

Still, she took their child from him and with her tucked securely to her chest approached her father. 

He visibly softened as he took her in and when she offered, he did carefully accept her into his arms. 

Behind her she could hear Erik shift agitatedly but she knew her father would never harm her daughter. 

“She looks much like you did as a babe.” The king noted, rocking a little when Aelfwynn started to fuss. “I’m sure she too inherited your mother’s robust health. It is only the men in our family who seem to struggle with illnesses.” 

Aethelflaed too remembered how her brother had nearly died when he had not been much older than her own daughter. She could not bear to think about it now that she had her own child. Her mother had loathed that her father had let Uhtred’s witch friend try to heal him, even for many years after and despite the fact that it had saved his life. 

She turned to look at Erik again who was watching the situation like a hawk, unease clear in his stance. Her mother would loathe him even more, simply for who he was. 

“I have considered how to salvage this impasse.” Her father’s voice had her turn back around and Erik moved closer, a reassuring hand on her lower back. Neither of them seemed to be able to go long without a soft touch from the other these days. 

Instead of handing their daughter back, Alfred moved to the window seat himself and settled down with her there, one tiny hand having taken hold of his forefinger but it did not seem to bother him, instead there was the hint of a smile on his face. 

“There is nothing to be done about folk talking but if Wessex stands behind you, the Witan would risk war if they attempt to depose you.” He told her, though his attention seemed to be on his grandchild. “Still, I would suggest you use your own men to form your guard. It will also keep the lords from doing anything foolish.” 

She nodded. “That was our thinking. Erik and his men will be the protectors of Mercia. They will swear their oaths to me and me alone.” 

“And do you have ways to feed a standing army?” His tone was that of a teacher, much like he had used to speak to her when she had sat with him by the fire and asked about statecraft. 

“For the moment yes. Once winter comes it will be a little more difficult but I will redistribute the lands of those who have held me captive and with Haesten on the run, there are large parts of Mercia that are once again under my control.” She placed her hand over Erik’s and threaded their fingers together. “I also think the Protector of Mercia should have some lands to call his own.” 

He squeezed her hand but said nothing, waiting as she was for her father’s reaction. 

Alfred had still not looked up from little Aelfwynn but nodded absently. “That will give you the chance to pick more loyal Ealdormen.” He seemed to approve. “We will trade with you to provide for the winter. This years harvest is most likely not yet going to yield enough.” 

“Thank you, King Alfred.” Erik had apparently finally found his voice. 

He only received a narrow-eyed look. “You’ll need to repeat your oaths publicly in front of the Witan. I hear the Byzantine emperor too keeps Northmen as his personal guard so this is not unheard of.” 

Getting to his feet, Alfred handed their daughter back to her and stepped close. “You understand you will be living in sin? That every Christian in Saxon lands will know and that there is little to be done about your eternal soul?” 

She clutched Aelfwynn closer, every part of her wanting to protest, that this could not be sin, that no god had a right to judge her when it was so little she craved for her self. Just the child in her arms and the strong Dane at her back. 

Not when they had sent her a dream as a warning too. Not when everything had been leading her to make her own choices, to take control of her fate. ‘God himself helps those who dare’, or so the old Roman writer had said.

“I understand, father.” She instead managed, holding back the tears that were burning behind her eyes. “And it is a fate I accept.” 

“Then I will support you as best I can.” Alfred’s voice was much gentler then and so too was the way he kissed her forehead, leaning down to place one on Aelfwynn’s little head too. 

He looked up at Erik again, who stood stoically and his expression hardened in an instant. “You told me you would die before you would ever let anything happen to them. See that you keep your word.” 

“I will, lord.” 

After the door closed behind her father, he was instantly at her back, strong arms going around her and their daughter in a protective embrace. She let herself melt back into his hold, swallowing down the turmoil of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. 

He pressed a kiss to the side of her head but said nothing, resting his chin on her shoulder. 

***

***  
**  
*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There! They get a happy ending! This is what happened! I don’t even care anymore, I started to write this over the Xmas holidays because it’s been eating at me since I watched Season 2 (though I was massively late to the party) and I had to finish it.  
> There are loose ends and certain characters certainly would not have acted or reacted the way they did here but you know what? This is my happy place.  
> (JUST LET THEM BE A HAPPY FAMILY!)


End file.
